ftened--he looked so ill, so helpless,
so hopeless. She wanted to light a cigarette for him, but she was somehow
bound to the sofa. She wanted him to go--she hated the prospect of his
going. He could not possibly go, alone, to his solitary room. Who would
tend him, soothe him, put him to bed? He was an infant....

Then, after a long while, Miss Ingate entered sharply. Audrey coughed and
sprang up.

"Oh!" ejaculated Miss Ingate.

"I--I think I shall just change my boots," said Audrey, smoothing out the
short white skirt. And she disappeared into the dressing-room that gave on
to the studio.

As soon as she was gone, Miss Ingate went close up to Musa's chair. He had
not moved.

She said, smiling, with the corners of her mouth well down:

"Do you see that door, young man?"

And she indicated the door.

When Audrey came back into the studio.

"Audrey," cried Miss Ingate shrilly. "What you been doing to Musa? As soon
as you went out he up vehy quickly and ran away."

At this information Audrey was more obviously troubled and dashed than Miss
Ingate had ever seen her, in Paris. She made no answer at all.
Fortunately, lying on the table in front of the mirror was a letter for
Miss Ingate which had arrived by the evening post. Audrey went for it,
pretending to search, and then handed it over with a casual gesture.

"It looks as if it was from Nick," she murmured.

Miss Ingate, as she was putting on her spectacles, remarked:

"I hope you weren't hurt--me not coming with you and Musa in the taxi from
the gardens this afternoon, dear."

"Me? Oh no!"

"It wasn't that I was so vehy interested in my sketch. But to my mind
there's nothing more ridiculous than several women all looking after one
man. Miss Thompkins thought so, too."

"Oh! Did she?... What does Nick say?"

Miss Ingate had put the letter flat on the table in the full glare of the
lamp, and was leaning over it, her grey hair brilliantly illuminated.
Audrey kept in the shadow and in the distance. Miss Ingate had a habit of
reading to herself under her breath. She read slowly, and turned pages over
with a deliberate movement.

"Well," said Miss Ingate twisting her head sideways so as to see Audrey
standing like a ghost afar off. "Well, she _has_ been going it! She's
broken a window in Oxford Street with a hammer; she had one night in the
cells for that. And she'd have had to go to prison altogether only some
unknown body paid the fine for her. She say