Oh, Nan, there'll be such a lot to say!" His glance held her a moment, and she flushed under it.

Those queer eyes of his had lost none of their old magnetic power.

He turned away with a short, amused laugh, and the next moment was listening courteously to an elderly duchess's gushing eulogy of his work.
Nan remained quietly where she was, gazing at the big picture of the famous American beauty.

It was a fine piece of work; the lights and shadows had been handled magnificently, and it was small wonder that the man who could produce such work had leaped into the foremost rank of portrait-painters.

She felt very glad of his success, remembering how bitter he had been in former days over his failure to obtain recognition.