would certainly not call again in Berkeley
Square. If Lady Sellingworth did not ask him to go there he would not
attempt to see her. He was not going to fight for her friendship. And
as to Beryl Van Tuyn--The curious name--Nicolas Arabian--came into his
mind and a conversation at a box at a theatre. Miss Van Tuyn had told
him about this magnificently handsome man, this "living bronze," but
somehow he had never thought of her as specially intimate with a fellow
who frequented the Cafe Royal, and who apparently sat as a model to
painters. But now he realized that this must be the man of Glebe Place,
and he felt more angry, more injured than before.

Yet he was not in love with Beryl Van Tuyn. Or had he fallen in
love with her without being aware of it? She attracted him very much
physically at times. She amused him, interested him. He liked being with
her. He was angry at the thought of another man's intimacy with her. He
wanted her to be fond of him, to need him, to prefer him to all other
men. But he often felt critical about her, about her character, though
not about her beauty. A lover surely could not feel like that. A lover
just loved, and there was an end of it.

He could not understand his own feelings. But when he thought of Beryl
Van Tuyn he felt full of the fighting instinct, and ready to take
the initiative. He would never fight to retain Lady Sellingworth's
friendship, but he would fight to assert himself with the beautiful
American. She should not take him up and use him merely as a means to
amusement without any care for what was due to him. Lady Sellingworth
was old, and in a sense famous. Such a woman could do as she pleased.
With her, protest would be ridiculous. But he would find a way with
Beryl Van Tuyn.

On that day and the next Craven did not see Miss Van Tuyn. No message
came to him from Lady Sellingworth. Evidently the latter wished to have
nothing more to do with him. She had now been in London for nearly a
week without letting him know it. Miss Van Tuyn had telephoned once
suggesting a meeting. But Craven had charmingly put her off, alleging a
tiresome engagement. He did not choose now to seem eager to meet her.
He was considering what he would do. If he could manage to meet her
in Glebe Place! But how to contrive such an encounter? While he was
meditating about this he was again rung up by Miss Van Tuyn, who
suggested that he should play golf with her at Beaconsfield on the
following day, S