reboding that was not exactly a dread,
yet was not exclusively a joy.

The first thing he made out in the room, when he could distinguish, was
Gabriel Nash's portrait, which suddenly filled him with an unreasoning
rancour. He seized it and turned it about, jammed it back into its
corner with its face against the wall. This small diversion might have
served to carry off the embarrassment with which he had finally averted
himself from Biddy. The embarrassment, however, was all his own; none of
it was reflected in the way she resumed, after a silence in which she
had followed his disposal of the picture:

"If she's so eager to come here--for it's here she wants to sit, not in
Great Stanhope Street, never!--how can she prove better that she doesn't
care a bit if she meets Miss Rooth?"

"She won't meet Miss Rooth," Nick replied rather dryly.

"Oh I'm sorry!" said Biddy. She was as frank as if she had achieved a
virtual victory, and seemed to regret the loss of a chance for Julia to
show an equal mildness. Her tone made her brother laugh, but she went on
with confidence: "She thought it was Mr. Nash who made Miss Rooth come."

"So he did, by the way," said Nick.

"Well then, wasn't that making trouble?"

"I thought you admitted there was no harm in her being here."

"Yes, but _he_ hoped there'd be."

"Poor Nash's hopes!" Nick laughed. "My dear child, it would take a
cleverer head than you or me, or even Julia, who must have invented that
wise theory, to say what they were. However, let us agree that even if
they were perfectly fiendish my good sense has been a match for them."

"Oh Nick, that's delightful!" chanted Biddy. Then she added: "Do you
mean she doesn't come any more?"

"The dishevelled actress? She hasn't been near me for months."

"But she's in London--she's always acting? I've been away so much I've
scarcely observed," Biddy explained with a slight change of note.

"The same silly part, poor creature, for nearly a year. It appears that
that's 'success'--in her profession. I saw her in the character several
times last summer, but haven't set foot in her theatre since."

Biddy took this in; then she suggested; "Peter wouldn't have liked
that."

"Oh Peter's likes--!" Nick at his easel, beginning to work, conveniently
sighed.

"I mean her acting the same part for a year."

"I'm sure I don't know; he has never written me a word."

"Nor me either," Biddy returned.

There was another short silence,