At the sound of three sharp, imperious calls the artist slowly lifted his eyes. Mrs. Richmond, her face at the open window of her limousine, saw him observing her as one might a chance passer-by on the high-road. When he saw that she was seeing him he rose and advanced toward the gate at a pace that was neither fast nor slow--a pace somehow discouraging to Mrs. Richmond. She awaited him with a smile of the most flattering warmth. “How do you do, Mr. Wade?” cried she as he opened the gate, and out went her gloved hand to meet his cordially. “You have treated me shamefully,” she went on. “But one who is nobody must take whatever treatment a great man gives one and be grateful that it’s no worse.” The big, dark man, looking extremely handsome in his loose, white flannels, laughed amiably. He showed his good sense by attempting no reply. He simply stood waiting. “I’ve stopped to ask you to dine with us to-morrow night--very informally,” said she. “It’d be an enormous favor, as we’re dreadfully dull.” “All this is very kind,” said Roger, “but I can’t come.” “Now, don’t say that,” urged she, her manner making her insistence seem polite--a manner of which she was admirably mistress. “Mr. Richmond told me this afternoon that I mustn’t take no for an answer. He has developed a great admiration and liking for you. If you’re not refusing just out of unneighborliness, perhaps you’ll come day after to-morrow evening?” “I’ll be on the sea,” said Roger. “I’m sailing Saturday morning.” “So suddenly!” cried Mrs. Richmond with an arresting agitation in her voice--obviously not the agitation of pleasure, but of alarm. “Then, you _must_ come to-morrow evening. It is our last chance for better acquaintance.” “Oh, there’s Paris,” said Roger carelessly. His frank eyes were regarding her with a puzzled expression. Mrs. Richmond flung away the last shred of pretense of merely social purposes. Her eyes pleaded and her voice implored as she said: “Mr. Richmond particularly wished to see you. Can’t you arrange it--for to-morrow evening--or this evening?” “Thank you. It’s really impossible.” And Roger’s tone and manner were a courteous but final refusal of all that she was implying. “Will you trouble yourself with my adieux to Mr. Richmond and your daughter?” “I’m so disappointed I hardly know what to say,” cried Mrs. Richmond with pathetic appeal. “Do forgive my rudeness, but----” “It’s quite impossible for me to change my plans for the little time I have between now and Saturday morning.” Roger was simply polite--not unfriendly, yet certainly not friendly. Mrs. Richmond’s handsome eyes veiled their anger behind a look of resigned regret. She dared not quarrel with him, must part with him on friendly terms. “I understand. I am dreadfully sorry. But--as you say, there’s Paris. We haven’t your address there, I believe.” “I have no address,” said Roger. “I shall have to find a place.”