ngate, grinning.

Audrey knew of no reason why she should blush before Miss Ingate, yet she
began to blush. She resolved not to blush; she put all her individual force
into the enterprise of resisting the tide of blood to her cheeks, but the
tide absolutely ignored her, as the tide of ocean might have ignored her.

She rose from the table, and, going into a corner, fidgeted with the
electric switches, turning certain additional lights off and on.

"All right," said Miss Ingate; "I'll write to him. I'm sure he'll expect
something. Have you finished your letters?"

"Yes."

"Well, what's this one on the table, then?"

"I shan't go on with that one."

"Any message for Musa?"

"You might tell him," said Audrey, carefully examining the drawn curtains
of the window, "that I happened to meet a French concert agent this morning
who was very interested in him."

"Did you?" cried Miss Ingate. "Where?"

"It was when I was out with Mr. Foulger. The agent asked me whether I'd
heard a man named Musa play in Paris. Of course I said I had. He told me he
meant to take him up and arrange a tour for him. So you might tell Musa he
ought to be prepared for anything."

"Wonders will never cease!" said Miss Ingate. "Have I got enough stamps?"

"I don't see anything wonderful in it," Audrey sharply replied. "Lots of
people in Paris know he's a great player, and those Jew concert agents are
always awfully keen--at least, so I'm told. Well, perhaps, after all, you'd
better not tell him. It might make him conceited.... Now, look here,
Winnie, do hurry up, and let's go out and post those letters. I can't stand
this huge house. I keep on imagining all the empty rooms in it. Hurry up
and come along."

Shortly afterwards Miss Ingate shouted downstairs into the earth:

"Miss Foley, we're both just going out to post some letters."

The faint reply came:

"Supper at nine."

At the farther corner of Paget Square they discovered a pillar-box standing
solitary in the chill night among the vast and threatening architecture.

"Do let's go to a cafe," suggested Audrey.

"A cafe?"

"Yes. I want to be jolly. I must break loose somewhere to-night. I can't
wait till to-morrow. I was feeling splendid till Jane Foley went. Then the
house began to get on my nerves, not to mention Susan Foley, with her
supper at nine. Do all people in London fix their meals hours and hours
beforehand? I suppose they do. We used to at Moze. But I'd forgotten. Co