"You are old friends then?"

"Our friendship is of forty years standing, which I should imagine is a severe test, but in many ways we are alike, and Margaret Keith knows enough about me to make allowances. We are both well-seasoned and strong-willed, and sometimes we differ, but I must confess that whenever the point has been one of importance time has proved her right."

Mrs. Chudleigh looked up at him, smiling. "That is a handsome admission, because I shouldn't imagine you easily changed your mind."

"No; as one grows older one's ideas are apt to fall into a groove. It requires an effort to force them out of it."

She said nothing for a few minutes, though his confession had its significance, since she must sooner or later persuade him to abandon one fixed idea.

"After all, none of us find that easy," she remarked.

He glanced across the lawn, where Millicent was talking to Greythorpe.

"That girl has a very attractive face. I don't merely mean that it's pretty."

"What do you call it then?"

He seemed to ponder. "I think I could best say it looks untainted, though that is rather vague. There's purity in it, by which I don't mean the guilelessness of inexperience."

"That could hardly be, considering who Miss Graham's father was, and that she has earned her living for some years."

There was a hint of surprise in the look Challoner gave her and she saw that she had made a mistake.

"A few people have natures which can't be spoiled," he said. "To them knowledge brings pity or shrinking instead of temptation. I think Miss Graham is to be numbered among these, and she is in good hands with my old friend."

Two or three minutes afterwards, Mrs. Keith resolutely crossed the lawn towards them, but her determined expression softened as she approached Challoner.

"Do you know that I feel neglected?" she said. "Where are those American azaleas you promised to show me?"

Challoner made her an apologetic bow. "Have I been remiss? I saw you with Greythorpe, and understood you found him interesting."

"I've nothing against the man, and he never bores one, but he's a friend of yesterday by comparison; it's only six years since I first met him."

"Ah!" said Challoner; "the old ties are strongest."

Mrs. Keith insisted on examining the azaleas, though they were dry and leafless, and Mrs. Chudleigh, seeing no further opportunity of a quiet talk with Challoner, left them. When she had gone, Mrs. Keith looked at her companion with a twinkle.

"Well," she said, "what do you think of Mrs. Chudleigh?"

"You'll allow me to say that I find her charming? It's a comprehensive word."

"And means anything or nothing. But I understand. You're often only conventional when you think yourself gallant."

"It's possible, but what would you have me say? She's attractive, a pleasant talker, and I think intelligent."

"Highly intelligent," Mrs. Keith remarked pointedly "Do you think she's to be trusted?"

"It doesn't enter into the question. I don't see that either of us is required to trust her."

"I'm inclined to think that's fortunate," Mrs. Keith rejoined.

For the next half hour she kept Challoner at her side and then left him with Mrs. Foster. It was hard to resist Margaret Keith when she had made up her mind, and Challoner had no wish to do so. Moreover he was glad to talk to Mrs. Foster, whom he liked, but he had other guests to whom he owed some attention and he felt as if he were being gently but firmly kept away from them. Mrs. Chudleigh and Millicent, however, seemed to be content with Greythorpe's society, and finding it difficult to leave Mrs. Foster he acquiesced.

Presently she suggested that he should show her friends his pictures, but he said that as it was near sunset and the gallery was badly lighted it would be better if she brought her party back in a day or two. Having promised to do so she summoned the others, and they were driven home.

CHAPTER XVII

THE PICTURE GALLERY

Mrs. Foster brought her guests back to Sandymere, and when Challoner had shown them the best bits of the old carved oak with which the house was decorated and some curious works of art he had picked up in India, he took them to the picture gallery which ran round the big square hall. A lantern dome admitted a cold light, but a few sunrays struck through a window looking to the south-west and fell in long bright bars on polished floor and sombre panelling. On entering the gallery, Challoner took out a case of miniatures and placing it on a small table brought a chair for Mrs. Keith.

"You know the pictures, but this collection generally interested you, and I have added a few examples of a good French period since you were last here," he said.

Mrs. Keith sat down. She was fond of miniatures, and though she would have preferred to accompany her host she had kept him away from Mrs.

Chudleigh since their arrival and thought she must be content with that. She seldom overdid anything and had no wish to make her object too plain; Geoffrey Challoner was by no means a fool. As she expected, Mrs. Chudleigh found an opportunity of joining him after a time and diverted his attention from Mrs. Foster, who left him to talk to his sister. Mrs. Keith watched the manoeuvre, which was cleverly carried out, with ironical amus.e.m.e.nt, though she was troubled by a faint uneasiness. She felt that her old friend was threatened, but she could not see where the danger lay, and, sitting with the miniatures before her, she tried to formulate her suspicions.

In the first place, she had unwisely given Mrs. Chudleigh to understand that it was doubtful whether Richard Blake had merited his disgrace.

Then the former had met Lieutenant Walters, who had fought in the frontier action, and had gained his confidence. It was possible that she had led him on to talk about the affair with injudicious freedom, and now she had met Greythorpe and seemed desirous of cultivating his acquaintance. All this had an ominous look, because the woman was ambitious and scheming, besides being in love with Sedgwick, who was something of an adventurer. She would no doubt seize upon any opportunity of securing his promotion.

Margaret's Keith's suspicions were justified, for Mrs. Chudleigh was then cleverly clearing the ground for future action. She had some knowledge of art and the row of family portraits, hung between suits of armour and trophies of Eastern weapons, interested her, while Challoner was gratified by the way she listened as he spoke of them. One or two were by well-known artists, and the faces of the old Challoners, some of whom wore wigs and rich court dress, and some obsolete uniforms, fixed her attention. The resemblance between them all was recognizable, and she thought the family strain must be unusually strong. They had obviously been stern, masterful men, practical rather than imaginative and not likely to be troubled by any emotional weaknesses. Then she glanced at the picture of a young woman with a face of singularly delicate beauty. Its expression was gentle and pensive.

"My wife; she died in Simla twenty years ago," said Challoner gravely, and pa.s.sing on, stopped before a water-colour drawing of his son.

It had been painted when Bertram was young, and he had his mother's dreamy look. Mrs. Chudleigh missed the hardness of expression that marked the Challoners.

"A sketch rather than a finished study, but there's talent in it," she remarked. "The subject's temperament has been cleverly seized; I have met Captain Challoner."

"My wife's work," said the Colonel. "Although I value it, I have thought she was mistaken in this drawing. My son is a man of action, and this is the face of a sentimentalist."

"Ah!" said Mrs. Chudleigh; "his mother should know him best."

"Undoubtedly," agreed Challoner, who looked disturbed at the suggestion. "Still, perhaps, in painting a portrait the artist may be misled into unduly emphasizing some single, pa.s.sing phase of the sitter's character. A lad's moods are variable; his nature has not had time to harden into its mould. I imagine this is what has happened, because if the likeness is faithful, my son has changed since then."

"One does not change much in essentials," Mrs. Chudleigh answered thoughtfully. "But what would you have different? It is a good and very likeable face."

"There is a hint of weakness; something that suggests a too sensitive disposition." The Colonel pointed to an officer in the old East India Company's uniform whose expression was grim and arrogant. "A crude piece of work, but he has the Challoner look."

"It may sound presumptuous, but I think you are scarcely doing the family justice. One can see the salient characteristics of the male line in this example, but they're too strongly marked. Good qualities, such as resolution and courage, may degenerate through being developed to exaggeration at the expense of others, and after all Captain Challoner strikes me as a much finer type. I'm afraid you undervalue the gift of imagination."

"These others," said Challoner, indicating the portraits generally, "had imagination enough to do their duty, often in difficult situations. I don't know that one needs much more."

"A stern doctrine; it seems to bar out a good deal of the beauty and joy of life. But I see some landscapes yonder."

She led him up to several small impressionist sketches in water-colour of Indian subjects, and stopped in admiration.

"These are very good. I know the country, and they make you realise what it is like. There is genius here."