"Very well. I shall have twelve days upon the steamer. When does it go?"
asked Thresk as he rose from his chair.

"On Friday, and this is Monday," said Mrs. Carruthers. "You certainly
haven't much time to go anywhere, have you?"

"No," replied Thresk, and Mrs. Carruthers saw his face quicken suddenly
to surprise. He actually caught his breath; he stared, no longer aware of
her presence in the room. He was looking over her head towards the grand
piano which stood behind her chair; and she began to run over in her mind
the various ornaments which encumbered it. A piece of Indian drapery
covered the top and on the drapery stood a little group of Dresden China
figures, a crystal cigarette-box, some knick-knacks and half-a-dozen
photographs in silver frames. It must be one of those photographs, she
decided, which had caught his eye, which had done more than catch his
eye. For she was looking up at Thresk's face all this while, and the
surprise had gone from it. It seemed to her that he was moved.

"You have the portrait of a friend of mine there," he said, and he
crossed the room to the piano.

Mrs. Carruthers turned round.

"Oh, Stella Ballantyne!" she cried. "Do you know her, Mr. Thresk?"

"Ballantyne?" said Thresk. For a moment or two he was silent. Then he
asked: "She is married then?"

"Yes, didn't you know? She has been married for a long time."