She knew Miss
Schley was determined to come to her house. She knew her house was one of
those to which any woman setting out on the conquest of London would wish
to come. She did not want Miss Schley there, but she resolved to invite
her if peopled talked too much about her not being invited. And she
wished to be informed if they did. One day she spoke to Robin Pierce
about it. Lord Holme's treatment of Carey had not yet been applied to
him. They met at a private view in Bond Street, given by a painter who
was adored by the smart world, and, as yet, totally unknown in every
other circle. The exhibition was of portraits of beautiful women, and all
the beautiful women and their admirers crowded the rooms. Both Lady Holme
and Miss Schley had been included among the sitters of the painter,
and--was it by chance or design?--their portraits hung side by side upon
the brown-paper-covered walls. Lady Holme was not aware of this when she
caught Robin's eye through a crevice in the picture hats and called him
to her with a little nod.
"Is there tea?"
"Yes. In the last room."
"Take me there. Oh, there's Ashley Greaves. Avoid him, like a dear, till
I've looked at something."
Ashley Greaves was the painter. There was nothing of the Bohemian about
him. He looked like a heavy cavalry officer as he stood in the centre of
the room talking to a small, sharp-featured old lady in a poke bonnet.
"He's safe.
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