John is allowing her--I never knew anyone extract quite so much satisfaction as Nan from the actual spending of money. Besides, although she doesn't realise it, Peter has made himself rather indispensable to her."

Kitty spoke with nervous sharpness:

"But you don't think she cares for him?"

The other reflected a moment before replying. Finally she said:

"If she does, it is quite unconsciously. Consciously, I feel almost sure that Maryon Rooke still occupies her thoughts."

"I wonder where she finds the great attraction in him?" queried Kitty thoughtfully.

"Simply this: That he was the first and, go far, the only man who has ever appealed to her at all. And as he has treated her rather badly, he's succeeded in fixing himself in her mind."

"Well, I've never understood the affair at all. Rooke was in love if ever a man was."

"Yes," agreed Penelope slowly. "But I think Maryon Rooke is what I should describe as--a born bachelor."

"Then he's no business philandering round with women who aren't born spinsters," retorted Kitty promptly.

Penelope's brown eyes twinkled.

"You're rather limiting his horizon," she observed.

Kitty laughed.

"Possibly. But I'm furious with him for hashing up Nan's life. . . .

As he has done," she added.

"Not necessarily," suggested Penelope. "I think Nan's rather like a little hard, unopened bud. He's bruised the bud, perhaps, but I don't think he's injured the flower."

"Good gracious, Penny, you're not trying to find excuses for the man!"

"Not a bit of it. But I believe that Nan has such a tremendous fascination for him that he simply can't resist her. In fact, I think if the question of finance didn't enter into the matter he'd be ready to shoulder the matrimonial yoke. . . But I don't see Maryon Rooke settling down to matrimony on a limited income! And of course Nan's own income ceases if she marries."

"It was very queer of Lord St. John to make that stipulation,"

commented Kitty.

"I don't think so at all. He wants to make quite sure that the man who marries Nan does so for love--and nothing else. And also to give her a free hand. How many women, if they had money of their own, as Nan has, would marry, do you suppose?" Penelope spoke heatedly. She was a modern of the moderns in her ideas. "Subconsciously it's the feeling of economical dependence, the dread of ultimate poverty, which has driven half the untrained women one knows into unhappy marriages. And Lord St. John recognises it. He's progressed with the times, bless him!"

"But Rooke will be making big money before very long," protested Kitty, keeping firmly to the point and declining to be led aside into one of Penelope's argumentative byeways. "He'll be able to settle a decent income on his wife in a few years."

"Very possibly. He'll be one of the most fashionable portrait painters of the day. But until that day comes, Maryon isn't going to tie himself up with a woman whose income ceases when she marries.

Besides"--drily--"an unattached bachelor is considerably more in demand as a painter of society women's portraits than a Benedict."

"So Nan is to be sacrificed?" threw out Kitty.

"It seems like it. And as long as Maryon Rooke occupies the foreground in her mind, no other man will occur to her as anything but a friend."

"Then I wish somebody--or something--would sweep him out of her mind!"

"Well, he's away now, at any rate," said Penelope soothingly. "So let's be thankful for small mercies."

As she spoke, the maid--an improvement on their original "Adagio"--entered with a telegram on a salver which she offered to Penelope. The latter slit open the envelope without glancing at the address and uttered a sharp exclamation of dismay as she read the brief communication it contained.

Kitty leaned forward.

"What is it, Penny? Not bad news?"

"It's for Nan," returned Penelope shortly. "You can read it."

Kitty perused it in silence.

"_Am in town. Shall call this afternoon on chance of finding you in_.--ROOKE."

"The very last person we wanted to blow in here just now," commented Kitty as she returned the wire.

Penelope slipped it back into its envelope and replaced it on the salver.

"Take it to Miss Davenant," she told the maid quietly. "And explain that you brought it to me by mistake."

CHAPTER VI

A FORGOTTEN FAN

Meanwhile, in the next room, Peter and Nan, having completed their scheme of decoration with "smilax and things," were resting from their labours and smoking sociably together.

Nan cast a reflective eye upon the table.

"You don't think it looks too much like a shrubbery where you have to hunt for the cakes, do you?" she suggested.

"Certainly I don't," replied Peter promptly. "If there is some slight confusion occasioned by that trail of smilax round the pink sugar-icing cake it merely adds to its attractiveness. The charm of mystery, you know!"

"I believe if Maryon were here he would sweep it all on to the floor in disgust!" observed Nan suddenly. "He'd say we'd forfeited simplicity."

"Maryon Rooke, the artist, you mean?"

The warm colour rushed into Nan's face, and she glanced at Peter with startled--almost frightened--eyes. She could not conceive why the sudden recollection of Rooke should have sprung into her mind at this particular moment. With difficulty her lips framed the monosyllable "Yes."

Peter bent forward. They were sitting together on the wide window-seat, the sound of the traffic from below coming murmuringly to their ears like some muted diapason.

"Nan"--Peter spoke very quietly--"Nan--was he the man?"

She nodded voicelessly. Peter made a quick gesture as though to lay his hand over hers, then checked it abruptly.