“Got what back?” asked Teddie, without so much as asking him to step inside.
“Your car,” explained Gerry, entering the abode of art on his own hook. “It’s down at the door. And I had ’em put on a new pair of lamps on the way over.”
“I’m sure that was very kind of you,” Teddie coldly admitted. But her attitude was something more than unbending. It was distinctly hostile. For there were certain things which she wasn’t quite able to forget.
“Say, Teddie,” demanded her quick-eyed visitor, entirely ignoring her expression in his comprehensive stare about the studio, “what in the name of heaven are you doing in a dump like this?”
“It seems to have proved an entirely satisfactory place to me,” Teddie responded with the utmost dignity.
“But has it?” demanded Gerry, putting down his hat.
“It would, if I were left alone,” said Teddie, biting her lips.
“And what would that mean? What would that bring you?” asked Gerry, with a suddenly sobered face.
“It would bring me the freedom I want,” retorted Teddie, with a challenge still in her gaze.
“That is the one thing it could never do, O Helen of the Ruinous Face!” corrected Gerry. But Teddie, who was in no sense a classical student, saw nothing remarkably appropriate in this allusion to the ancients.