"All right," he said. "I’m sorry I was offensive. I’m just tired of this mystery, I suppose. It’s a hopeless sort of affair for me. I can’t make you love me; you’re married, besides. It’s too much for me—I can’t cope with it, Steve.... So I won’t ever bother you again with importunities. I’ll go my own way." "Very well," she said in an even voice. She nodded to him and went out, saying as she passed: "There’ll be tea at five, if you care for any." And left him planted. Which presently enraged him, and he began to pace the studio, pondering on the cruelty, insensibility and injustice of that devilish sex which had created man as a convenience. "The thing to do," he said savagely to himself, "is to exterminate the last trace of love for her, tear it out, uproot it, trample on it without remorse——" The studio bell rang. He walked to the door and opened it. A bewilderingly pretty girl stood there. "Miss Davis?" she inquired sweetly. "I have an appointment." "Come in," said Cleland, the flush of wrath still on his countenance. The girl entered; he offered her a chair. "Miss Davis happens to be out at the moment," he said, "but I don’t believe she’ll be very long." "Do you mind my waiting?" asked the pretty girl. "No, I don’t," he said, welcoming diversion. "Do you mind my being here? Or are you going to put me out?" She looked surprised, then she laughed very delightfully: "Of course not. Miss Davis and I have known each other for a long while, and I owe her a great deal and I am devoted to her. Do you think I’d be likely to banish a friend of hers? Besides, I’m only one of her models." "A model?" he repeated. "How delightful! I also am a model—of good behaviour." They both laughed. "Does it pay?" she inquired mischievously. "No, it doesn’t. I wish I had another job." "Why not take the one I’ve just left?" "What was it?" "I was dancing at the Follies." "All right. Will you try me out?" "With pleasure." "I’ll turn on that music-box." The girl laughed her enchanting little laugh, appraised him at a glance, then turned her pretty head and critically surveyed the studio. "I believe," she said, "I’m to pose for Miss Davis seated on a winged horse. Isn’t that exciting?" "You’d be delightful on a winged horse," he said. "Do you think so?" "I suspect it. What did you do in the Follies?" "Nothing very interesting. Have you seen the Follies?" "You ought to know I haven’t," he said reproachfully. "Do you suppose I could have forgotten you?" She rose and dropped him a Florodora curtsey. They were getting on very well. She glanced demurely at the music box. He jumped up and turned it on. The battered disc croaked out a tango. "Shall I take up those rugs?" he inquired. "What on earth would Miss Davis say if she found us dancing?" "She isn’t here to say anything. _Shall_ I?" "Very well.... I’ll help you." They dragged the rugs aside.