‘He’s doing a private show at Lady Snellgrove’s,’ said the girl. ‘Warens is there too.’

There was a pause.

‘Well, then,’ said Birkin, in a dispassionate protective manner, ‘what do you intend to do?’

The girl paused sullenly. She hated the question.

‘I don’t intend to do anything,’ she replied. ‘I shall look for some sittings tomorrow.’

‘Who shall you go to?’ asked Birkin.

‘I shall go to Bentley’s first. But I believe he’s angwy with me for running away.’

‘That is from the Madonna?’