"They? Who?"
"Men," said Mrs. Lenoir. Then out of those distant, thoughtful, no longer very bright eyes flashed for an instant the roguish twinkle for which she had once been famous. "I've given them as good as I got, though," said she. "And now—will you come?"
Winnie laughed. "Well, do you think I should prefer this empty tomb?" she asked. Yes—empty and a tomb—apt words for what the studio now was. "You weren't as nice as this at Shaylor's Patch—though you always said things that made me think."
"They've all got their heads in the air at Shaylor's Patch—dear creatures!"
"I shall enjoy staying with you. Is it really convenient?" Mrs. Lenoir smiled. "Oh, but that's a silly question, because I know you meant it. When may I come?"
"Not a moment later than this afternoon."
"Well, the truth is I didn't fancy sleeping here again. I expect I should have gone to Shaylor's Patch."
Again Mrs. Lenoir smiled. "You're full of pluck, but you're scarcely hard enough, my dear. If I'm a failure, Shaylor's Patch will do later, won't it?"
"I shall disgrace you. I've nothing to wear. We were—I'm very poor, you know."
"I'd give every pound at my bank and every rag off my back for one line of your figure," said Mrs. Lenoir. "I was beautiful once, you know, my dear." Her voice took on a note of generous recognition. "You're very well—in the petite style, Winnie." But by this she evidently meant something different from her 'beautiful.' Well, it was matter of history.