Deep silences came between them. Curiosity to see what a sing-song girl was like took possession of Ruth's thoughts. “Nigel is like all men,” Lady Lescelles continued. Mother? Suzanne Valade, her mother? With deliberation, he spoke. “Be so good as to stand away from that door at once, sir,” Brendon ordered. She dropped beside the chair, sat cross-legged, and laughed at the futile jade-coloured wall. To-night the subtle suggestiveness of those few daring lines, fascinating in their very simplicity, the head thrown back, the half-closed eyes—the inner meaning of the great artist seemed to come to him with a rush.
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