Hunt," did
Maggie recognize the well-dressed visitor as the shabby, boisterous
painter whom she had last seen down at the Duchess's.
Panic seized upon her. Miss Sherwood was leading him toward where she
sat and his first clear sight of her would mean the end. There was no
possible escape; she could only await her fate. And when she was
denounced as a fraud, and her glittering victory was gone, she could
only take herself away with as much of the defiance of admitted defeat
as she could assume--and that wouldn't be much.
She gazed up at Hunt, whitely, awaiting extermination. Miss Sherwood's
voice came to her from an infinite distance, introducing them. Hunt
bowed, with a formally polite smile, and said formally, "I'm very glad
to meet you, Miss Cameron."
Not till he and Miss Sherwood were seated and chatting did Maggie
realize the fullness of the astounding fact that he had not recognized
her. This was far more upsetting to her than would have been
recognition and exposure; she had been all braced for that, but not
for what had actually happened. She was certain he must have known
her; nothing had really changed about her except her dress, and only a
few weeks had passed since he had been seeing her daily down at the
Duchess's, and since she had been his model, and he had studied every
line and expression of her face with those sharp painter's eyes of
his.
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