"Confound it," he muttered, and rang up Stephanie’s studio. A maid answered, saying that Miss Quest had gone motoring and Miss Davis had not yet returned from shopping. "I want to borrow a lump of ice," explained Cleland. "I’ll come down for it." So he concealed his lack of apparel under a gay silk dressing gown, picked up a pan, and went down, not expecting to encounter anybody. In the kitchenette, in the rear, the obliging maid gave him a lump of ice. Carrying it in one hand, aloft, as an expert waiter carries a towering tray of dishes, and whistling a gay air with great content—for his work upstairs had gone very well that morning—he sauntered out of the culinary regions, along the alley-like passageway, into the studio. And as he started for the door which he had left ajar, a figure opened it from without and entered hurriedly—a scared, breathless little figure, bare-footed, swathed in a kimono and a shock of hair. They stared at each other, astonished. Both blushed furiously. "I simply can’t help it," said the girl. "I was sitting on that horse waiting for Miss Davis, when a bee or a horsefly or something stung him and he began to rear and kick all around the court, and I slid off him and ran." They both laughed. Cleland, clutching his pan of ice, said: "I seem doomed to run into you when I shouldn’t. I’m terribly sorry." She blushed again and carefully swathed her waist in the obi. "You didn’t mean to," she said. "It was rather startling, though." "It was, indeed. And now we’re having another unconventional party. Shall I leave this ice here and go out and quiet the nag?" "He’ll surely kick you." "I’ll take a chance——" He set the pan of ice on a table, girded up his dressing-gown, and went out into the court. The horse stood quietly enough now. But Cleland soon discovered a green-eyed horsefly squatting on the wall and rubbing its forelegs together in devilish exultation. "I’ll fix you," he muttered, picking up a lump of wet clay and approaching with infinite caution. He was a good shot; he buried the bloodthirsty little demon under a spatter of clay. Then he went back for his ice. "The deed is done," he said cheerily. "It was a horsefly, as you said.... Good-bye.... When are we going to have another dance?" "We’d better not," she said smilingly. She had seated herself on the sofa and had drawn her pretty, bare feet up under her kimono. "You won’t let me give another party for you?" he inquired. "I ought not to." "But _will_ you?" "I don’t know. This kimono party we’re having now seems sufficient for the present; and I think you’d better go." "Anyway," he said, "when a desire for innocent revelling seizes you, you know where to go." "Yes, thank you." They laughed at each other. "Good-bye, pretty stranger," he said. "Good-bye, you nice boy!" So he went away upstairs with his ice, and she stole out presently and ventured into the courtyard where the placid white horse stood as calmly as a cow.