But probably not.
At the end of September, Franks wrote from his London address, briefly but cordially, with an invitation to luncheon on the next day, which was Sunday.

And Warburton went.
He was nervous as he knocked at the door; he was rather more nervous as he walked into the studio.

Norbert advanced to him with a shout of welcome, and from a chair in the background rose Mrs.Franks.
Perceptibly changed, both of them.

The artist's look was not quite so ingenuous as formerly; his speech, resolute in friendliness, had not quite the familiar note.

Rosamund, already more mature of aspect, smiled somewhat too persistently, seemed rather too bent on showing herself unembarrassed.