Vandervelde, who met them in response to Hemingway’s cable, knew Emma Campbell at sight, but failed to recognize in the tall, distinguished, very foreign-looking gentleman, the gangling Peter Champneys he had seen married to Nancy Simms.  He kept staring at Peter, and the corners of his mouth curled more than usual.  And he liked him, with the instantaneous liking of one large-natured man for another.  Vandervelde had never approved of the annulment of the Champneys marriage, although Marcia did.  Not even the fact that Anne was going to marry Berkeley Hayden, had been able to convince Vandervelde that the bringing to naught of Chadwick Champneys’s plans could be right.  And looking at Peter Champneys now, he was more than ever convinced that a mistake had been made.  That little gutter-girl, Gracie, had been right about Peter Champneys; and Anne had been wrong.

Vandervelde asked, presently, if Peter wished to see the reporters.  Once they scented him, they would be clamoring at his heels.  And then Peter learned to his surprise and annoyance that he was something of a hero and very much of a celebrity.  His expression made Vandervelde chuckle.  But, the attorney demanded, could a famous artist, a man who for distinguished and unusual service had been decorated by two governments, the heir to the Champneys millions, and one of the figures of a social romance, hope to hide his light under a bushel basket?  Nothing doing!  He was a figure of international importance, a lion whom the public wanted to hear roar.

Peter shuddered.  The thought of being interviewed by one of those New York super-reporters made him feel limp.  Couldn’t they understand he didn’t want to talk?  Didn’t they understand that those who had really seen, those who knew, weren’t doing any talking?  Why,—­they couldn’t!  As for himself, his nerves were rasped raw.  Luckily, Vandervelde understood.

He asked Vandervelde a few perfunctory questions, and learned that things were very much all right.  He signed certain papers presented to him.  Then he asked abruptly if Mrs. Champneys had been as liberally provided for as she should have been, and learned that Mrs. Champneys had flatly refused to accept a penny more than the actual amount given her by Chadwick Champneys’s will.  Vandervelde added, after a moment, that he thought Mrs. Champneys intended to remarry.  At that Peter looked somewhat surprised.  He thought him a bold man who of his own free will ordained to marry Nancy Simms Champneys!  He murmured, politely, that he hoped she would be happy, but failed to ask the name of his successor.  What was Hecuba to him or he to Hecuba?

He was in Vandervelde’s office, then, and the telephone began to ring.  Three several times Vandervelde answered the questions where, when, how might the reporter at the other end of the wire get in touch with Mr. Peter Champneys.  Had he really returned to New York?  Been decorated several times, hadn’t he?  What was his latest picture?  What were his present and future plans?  Could Mr. Vandervelde give any information?  In each case Mr. Vandervelde said he couldn’t.  He hung up the receiver and looked at the celebrity, who seemed gloomy.