"I don't like distressing art," said Braybrooke, rather firmly. "And I
think there is too much of it nowadays."

"Anything is better than the merely nice. And you have far too much of
that in England. Men like Dick Garstin are a violent protest against
that, and sometimes they go to extremes. He has caught the secret of
evil, and when he had done with it he may quite possibly catch the
secret of good."

"And then," said Braybrooke, "I am sure he will paint you."

It was meant to be a very charmingly turned compliment. But Miss Van
Tuyn received it rather doubtfully.

"I don't know that I want to wait quite so long as that," she murmured.
"Besides--I think I rather come in between. At least, I hope so."

At this point in the conversation the cab stopped before the Ritz.

To Francis Braybrooke's intense astonishment--and it might almost be
added confusion--the first person his eyes lit on as they walked towards
the tea-tables was Fanny Cronin, comfortably seated in an immense
arm-chair, devouring a muffin in the company of an old lady, whose
determined face was completely covered with a criss-cross of wrinkles,
and whose withered hands were flashing with magnificent rings. He was so
taken aback that he was guilty of a definite start, and the exclamation,
"Miss Cronin!" in a voice that suggested alarm.

"Oh, old Fanny with Mrs. Clem Hodson!" said Miss Van Tuyn. "She's a
school friend of Fanny's from Philadelphia. Let us go to that table in
the far corner. I'll just speak to them while you order tea."

"But I thought Miss Cronin never went out."

"She never does, except with Mrs. Clem, unless I want her."

"How singularly unfortunate I am to-day!" thought Braybrooke, as he
bowed to Miss Cronin in a rather confused manner and went to do as he
was told.

He ordered tea, then sat down anxiously to wait for Miss Van Tuyn. From
his corner he watched her colloquy with the two school friends from
Philadelphia, and it seemed to him that something very important was
being told. For Fanny Cronin looked almost animated, and her manner
approached the emphatic as she spoke to the standing girl. Mrs. Hodson
seemed to take very little part in the conversation, but sat looking
very determined and almost imperious as she listened. And presently
Braybrooke saw her extremely observant dark eyes--small, protuberant
and round as buttons--turn swiftly, with even, he thought, a darting
movement, in his direction.

"I shall be driven