When they reached home there was barely time to dress for dinner, and Charles had no opportunity for a tete-a-tete discussion of the situation with his mother that evening.  And as he breakfasted early next day and dined at the club, he had ample time in which to determine that, for the present, he would avoid anything in the shape of a family conference, and would content himself with keeping his eye on the mauvais sujet.

CHAPTER VIII

As soon as Lightmark and Rainham were left alone in the twilight of the studio, the former flung himself into a chair with a sigh of relief, and devoted himself to rolling and lighting a cigarette.  Rainham picked up his hat, consulted his watch, with a preoccupation of mind which prevented him from noticing what the time was, and, refusing the proffered tobacco-pouch and the suggested whisky-and-soda, seemed about to go.  Then he stopped, with his back turned towards his host and a pretence of examining a sketch.

“I’m sorry I made such an ass of myself about that study—­that girl, you know,” he said presently.  “The fact is, I saw her the other day, and the coincidence was rather startling.”

Lightmark blew a light cloud of smoke from his lips before he spoke.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter in the least, old man.  You didn’t implicate me, as it happened, though I’m afraid you got yourself into rather hot water.  A poor devil of a painter must have models, and it’s recognised, but men of business——!  It’s quite another thing.  There’s no possible connection between girls and dry docks.”  Then he added lightly, “Where are you going to dine to-night?  Let’s go to one of our Leicester Square haunts, or shall we get into a hansom and drive to Richmond?  I’ve sold old Quain a picture, and I feel extravagantly inclined.  What do you say?  Under which chef?  Speak, or let’s toss up.”

Rainham appeared to consider for a moment; then he sat down again.

“About that girl,” he said; “I suppose you do remember something about her?  She must have been very pretty when you painted her, though she’s nothing wonderful now, poor thing!  I don’t want to pump you, Dick, but she seems to have been pretty badly treated, and I want to see if I can’t help her.”

“Help her!” with a shrug.  “For goodness’ sake tell me:  is it Don Quixote or Don Lothario that you are playing?”

“I should have thought you need hardly have asked,” answered the other a little sadly.  “I found the wretched creature waiting, with an equally wretched baby, both apparently not far from starvation, outside the dock the other night; and—­well, I thought she might be waiting for you.”

Lightmark threw the stump of his cigarette into a corner viciously, with a dangerous glance at the other.

“Why the devil should she have been waiting for me?  Did she say she was waiting for me?  How should a model know that I had been painting there?  But I don’t want to quarrel with you, and, after all you’ve done for me, I suppose you’ve a certain right to put yourself in loco parentis, and all that sort of thing.  Tell me all you have found out about the girl—­all she has told you, that is to say, and then I’ll see what I can do.”