"We were good friends--very good friends." Joan neither denied nor agreed.

"We had certain things in common, a love of art, of the finer things of life.

I made enemies, of course, in consequence.

Your racing friends----" He paused.

"Milly Splay, who would have matched you with some dull, tiresome squire accustomed to sleep over his port after dinner, the sort of man you are drawing so brilliantly in your wonderful book." A movement of impatience on Joan's part perplexed him.