e every picture I have
thought of those women! A thing cannot be good at your price: so don't
talk that sentimental stuff to me."

"Be original; you said that to me thirty years ago."

"I remember perfectly: that did not require much sense."

"No; you tossed it off, as it were. Yet I'd have made you a good
husband. You are the most interesting woman I've ever met."

"The compliment is not remarkable. Now, Ian Belward, don't try to say
clever things. And remember that I will have no mischief-making."

"At thy command--"

"Oh, cease acting, and take Sophie to her carriage." Two hours later,
Delia Gasgoyne sat in her bedroom wondering at Gaston's abstraction
during the drive home. Yet she had a proud elation at his success, and a
happy tear came to her eye.

Meanwhile Gaston was supping with his uncle. Ian was in excellent
spirits: brilliant, caustic, genial, suggestive. After a little while
Gaston rose to the temper of his host. Already the scene in the Commons
was fading from him, and when Ian proposed Paris immediately, he did not
demur. The season was nearly over.

Ian said; very well, why remain? His attendance at the House? Well, it
would soon be up for the session. Besides, the most effective thing he
could do was to disappear for the time. Be unexpected--that was the key
to notoriety. Delia Gasgoyne? Well, as Gaston had said, they were to
meet in the Mediterranean in September; meanwhile a brief separation
would be good for both. Last of all--he did not wish to press it--but
there was a promise!

Gaston answered quietly, at last: "I will redeem the promise."

"When?"

"Within thirty-six hours."

"That is, you will be at my studio in Paris within thirty-six hours from
now?"

"That is it."

"Good! I shall start at eight to-morrow morning. You will bring your
horse, Cadet?"

"Yes, and Brillon."

"He isn't necessary." Ian's brow clouded slightly.

"Absolutely necessary."

"A fantastic little beggar. You can get a better valet in France. Why
have one at all?"

"I shall not decline from Brillon on a Parisian valet. Besides, he comes
as my camarade."

"Goth! Goth! My friend the valet! Cadet, you're a wonderful fellow, but
you'll never fit in quite."

"I don't wish to fit in; things must fit me." Ian smiled to himself.

"He has tasted it all--it's not quite satisfying--revolution next! What
a smash-up there'll be! The romantic, the barbaric overlaps. Well, I
shall get my picture out of it, an