"I should have thought you'd have come over to see your friend the actress." "Which of my friends? I know so many actresses," Peter pleaded. "The woman you inflicted on us in this place a year ago--the one who's in London now." "Oh Miriam Rooth? I should have liked to come over, but I've been tied fast. Have you seen her there?" "Yes, I've seen her." "Do you like her?" "Not at all." "She has a lovely voice," Peter hazarded after a moment. "I don't know anything about her voice--I haven't heard it." "But she doesn't act in pantomime, does she?" "I don't know anything about her acting. I saw her in private--at Nick Dormer's studio." "At Nick's--?" He was interested now. "What was she doing there?" "She was sprawling over the room and--rather insolently--staring at me." If Mrs. Dallow had wished to "draw" her brother she must at this point have suspected she succeeded, in spite of his care to divest his tone of all emotion. "Why, does he know her so well? I didn't know." "She's sitting to him for her portrait--at least she was then." "Oh yes, I remember--I put him up to that. I'm greatly interested. Is the portrait good?" "I haven't the least idea--I didn't look at it. I daresay it's like," Julia threw off. "But how in the world"--and Peter's interest grew franker--"does Nick find time to paint?" "I don't know. That horrid man brought her." "Which horrid man?"--he spoke as if they had their choice. "The one Nick thinks so clever--the vulgar little man who was at your place that day and tried to talk to me. I remember he abused theatrical people to me--as if I cared anything about them. But he has apparently something to do with your girl." "Oh I recollect him--I had a discussion with him," Peter patiently said. "How could you? I must go and dress," his sister went on more importantly. "He _was_ clever, remarkably. Miss Rooth and her mother were old friends of his, and he was the first person to speak of them to me." "What a distinction! I thought him disgusting!" cried Julia, who was pressed for time and who had now got up. "Oh you're severe," said Peter, still bland; but when they separated she had given him something to think of.