"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.