hand had touched her in the restaurant! And
how angry she had been afterwards! Garstin smiled as he remembered
her anger. But she had looked wonderful. She might be worth painting
presently. He did not really care to paint a Ceres. But she was rapidly
losing the Ceres look.

Before he went to bed he again stood in front of the scarcely begun
sketch for the portrait of Arabian, and looked at it for a long time.
His face became grim and set as he looked. Presently he moved his lips
as if he were saying something to a listener within. And the listener
heard:

"In the underworld--but is the fellow a king?"

CHAPTER III

Francis Braybrooke was pleased. Young Craven and Beryl were evidently
"drawing together" now Adela Sellingworth was happily out of the way.
He heard of them dining together at the _Bella Napoli_, playing golf
together at Beaconsfield--or was it Chorley Wood? He was not quite sure.
He heard of young Craven being seen at Claridge's going up in the lift
to Miss Van Tuyn's floor. All this was very encouraging. Braybrooke's
former fears were swept away and his confidence in his social sense was
re-established upon its throne. Evidently he had been quite mistaken,
and there had been nothing in that odd friendship with Adela
Sellingworth. This would teach him not to let himself go to suspicion in
the future.

He still did not know where Lady Sellingworth was. Nothing had appeared
in the _Morning Post_ about her movements. Nobody seemed to know
anything about her. He met various members of the "old guard" and made
inquiry, but "Haven't an idea" was the invariable reply. Even, and
this was strangest of all, Seymour Portman did not know where she was.
Braybrooke met him one day at the Marlborough and spoke of the matter,
and Seymour Portman, with his most self-contained and reserved manner,
replied that he believed Lady Sellingworth had gone abroad to "take a
rest," but that he was not sure where she was "at the moment." She was
probably moving about.

Why should she take a rest? She never did anything specially laborious.
It really was quite mysterious. One day Braybrooke inquired discreetly
in Berkeley Square, alleging a desire to communicate with Lady
Sellingworth about a charity bazaar in which he was interested; but the
footman did not know where her ladyship was or when she was coming back
to town. And still letters were not being forwarded.

Meanwhile Fanny Cronin felt that Paris was drifting quit