, I'm afraid."

CHAPTER 48

Norbert Franks was putting the last touches to a portrait of his wife;
a serious portrait, full length, likely to be regarded as one of his
most important works. Now and then he glanced at the original, who sat
reading; his eye was dull, his hand moved mechanically, he hummed a
monotonous air.

Rosamund having come to the end of her book, closed it, and looked up.

"Will that do?" she asked, after suppressing a little yawn.

The painter merely nodded. She came to his side, and contemplated the
picture, inclining her head this way and that with an air of
satisfaction.

"Better than the old canvas I put my foot through, don't you think?"
asked Franks.

"Of course there's no comparison. You've developed wonderfully. In
those days--"

Franks waited for the rest of the remark, but his wife lost herself in
contemplation of the portrait. Assuredly he had done nothing more
remarkable in the way of bold flattery. Any one who had seen Mrs.
Franks only once or twice, and at her best, might accept the painting
as a fair "interpretation" of her undeniable beauty; those who knew her
well would stand bewildered before such a counterfeit presentment.

"Old Warburton must come and see it," said the artist presently.

Rosamund uttered a careless assent. Long since she had ceased to wonder
whether Norbert harboured any suspicions concerning his friend's brief
holiday in the south of France. Obviously he knew nothing of the
dramatic moment which had preceded, and brought about, his marriage,
nor would he ever know.

"I really ought to go and look him up." Franks added. "I keep on saying
I'll go to-morrow and to-morrow. Any one else would think me an
ungrateful snob; but old Warburton is too good a fellow. To tell the
truth, I feel a little ashamed when I think of how he's living. He
ought to have a percentage on my income. What would have become of me
if he hadn't put his hand into his pocket when he was well off and I
was a beggar?"

"But don't you think his business must be profitable?" asked Rosamund,
her thoughts only half attentive to the subject.

"The old chap isn't much of a business man, I fancy," Franks answered
with a smile. "And he has his mother and sister to support. And no
doubt he's always giving away money. His lodgings are miserable. It
makes me uncomfortable to go there. Suppose we ask him to lunch on
Sunday?"

Rosamund reflected for a moment.

"If you like--I had