Roger came striding into the room exactly as Lady Gertrude finished the perusal of her niece's epistle. She looked up with eyes that gleamed like hard, bright pebbles behind her pince-nez. "The kind of news to which I fear we shall have to grow accustomed," she said acidly. "It appears that Nan is getting herself talked about in connection with that artist who is painting her portrait." By the time she had finished speaking Roger's face was like a thundercloud. "What do you mean? What does Isobel say?" he demanded. "You had better read the letter for yourself," replied his mother, pushing it towards him. He snatched it up and read it hastily, then stood silently staring at it, his face white with anger, his eyes as hard as Lady Gertrude's own. "It's a great pity you ever met Nan Davenant," pursued his mother, breaking the silence. "There's bad blood in the Davenants, and Nan will probably create a scandal for us one day. I understand she strongly resembles her notorious great-grandmother, Angele de Varincourt." "My wife will lead a very different kind of life from Angele de Varincourt," remarked Roger. "I'll see to that." "It's a pity you didn't look nearer home for a wife, Roger," she observed. "I always hoped you would learn to care for Isobel." "Isobel!"--with blank amazement. "I do care for her--she's a jolly good sort--but not in that way. Besides, she doesn't care for me in the slightest--except in a sisterly fashion." "Are you sure of that? Remember, you've never asked her the question." And with this final thrust, Lady Gertrude left him to his thoughts. No doubt, later on, the thought of Isobel in the new light presented by his mother would recur to his mind, but for the moment he was entirely preoccupied with the matter of Nan's portrait and his determination to put an end to the sittings. It would be quite easy, he decided. The only thing that stood in the way of his immediately carrying out his plan, was the fact that he had promised to go away the following morning on a few days' fishing expedition, together with Barry Seymour and the two Fentons. The realisation that Maryon Rooke would probably spend the best part of those few days in Nan's company set the blood pounding furiously through his veins. His decision was taken instantly. The fishing party must go without him. As a natural sequence to his engagement to Nan he had an open invitation to Mallow, and this evening he availed himself of it by motoring across to dinner there. The question of the fishing party was easily disposed of on the plea of unexpected estate matters which required his supervision. Barry brushed his apologies aside. "My dear chap, it doesn't matter a scrap. We three'll go as arranged and you must join us on our next jaunt. Kitty'll be here to look after Nan," he added, smiling good-naturedly. "She hates fishing--it bores her stiff." After dinner Roger made an opportunity to broach the matter of the portrait to Nan.