This simple question suddenly gave Miss Van Tuyn the idea for a plan of campaign. It sprang into her brain, flashed upon it like an inspiration. For a moment she was rigid. Her body was strongly influenced. Then as the idea made itself at home in her she became supple and soft again. “I’ve got a lot to tell you,” she said, “if you won’t be bored.” “You never bore me, Beryl.” “No, I don’t believe I do. Well, first I must tell you how good Dick Garstin has been to me.” “Garstin the painter?” “Yes.” And she enlarged upon her intense interest in painting, her admiration for Garstin’s genius, her curiosity about his methods and aims, her passion for understanding the arts although she could not create herself. Lady Sellingworth, who knew the girl’s genuine interest in all art developments, listened quite convinced of Beryl’s sincerity. Arabian was never mentioned. Miss Van Tuyn did not go into details. She spoke only of models, of Garstin’s varying moods, of his way of getting a thing on to canvas, of his views on colour and technique. “It must be absorbingly interesting to watch such a man at work,” Lady Sellingworth said presently. “It is. It’s fascinating.” “And so that is the reason why you are staying so long in smoky old London?” “No, Adela, it isn’t. At least, that’s not the only reason.” The words were spoken slowly and were followed by a curiously conscious, almost, indeed, embarrassed look from the girl’s violet eyes. “No?” After a long pause Beryl said: “You know I have always looked upon you as a book of wisdom.” “It’s very difficult to be wise,” said Lady Sellingworth, with a touch of bitterness. “And sometimes very dull.” “But you are wise, dearest. I feel it. You have known and done so much, and you have had brains to understand, to seek out the truth from experience. You have lived with understanding. You are not like the people who travel round the world and come back just the same as if they had been from Piccadilly Circus to Hampstead Heath and back. One _feels_ you have been round the world when one is with you.” “Does one?” said Lady Sellingworth, rather drily. “But I fancied nowadays the young thought all the wisdom lay with them.” “Well, I don’t. And, besides, I think you are marvellously discreet.” “Wise! Discreet! I begin to feel as if I ought to sit on the Bench!” Again there was the touch of bitterness in the voice. A very faint smile hovered for an instant about Miss Van Tuyn’s lips. “Judging the foolish women! Well, I think you are one of the few who would have a right to do that. You are so marvellously sensible.” “Anyhow, I have no wish to do it. But--you were going to tell me?” “In confidence.” “Of course. The book of wisdom never opens its leaves to the mob.” “I want very much to know your opinion of young Alick Craven.”