"Anyone could see that," said Peter.
"But she'd been in that studio some time before you came along, I take it,—I mean she'd been anybody's property for the asking?"
Graham shuddered. "I hate to think so," he said.
Peter kicked the leg of the nearest chair.
"How d'you feel?" asked Kenyon.
"Awfully sorry for her," said Graham.
"Yes, of course. What I mean is, are you all right?"
Graham looked puzzled. "I find it rather difficult to pay for everything," he said, "especially as I've been damned unlucky lately."
The man of the world involuntarily raised his eyebrows. "Good Lord!" he said to himself. "And this boy is the son of a specialist. Blind—blind!" Then he spoke aloud, passing on to another point. "How long do you think it is incumbent upon you to make yourself the guardian of this girl?"
Graham shrugged his shoulders. "She comes from Poland. Her father and mother are dead and she has no one to look after her."