Miriam went in with alacrity. The light was on in the octagonal brass framed lantern that hung from the skylight and shed a soft dim radiance through its old glass. Mrs. Orly still in her bonnet and fur-lined cape was sitting drinking tea in the little old cretonne chair. She raised a tired flushed face and smiled brightly at Miriam as she came down the room.
“I’m dying for another cup; I had to fly off and clear up Mr. Hancock’s things.”
“Mr. Hancock busy? Have some cake, it’s rather a nice one.” Mrs. Orly cut a stout little wedge.
Clearing away the newspaper Miriam took possession of Mr. Leyton’s chair.
Mr. Orly swung in shutting the door behind him and down the room peeling off his frock coat as he came.
“Tea darling?”
“Well m’love, since you’re so pressing.”
Mr. Orly switched on the lamp on the corner of the bench and subsided into his chair his huge bulk poised lightly and alertly, one vast leg across the other knee.
“’Scuse my shirt-sleeves Miss Hens’n. I say I’ve got a new song—like to try it presently or are ye too busy?”
Poised between the competing interests of many worlds Miriam basked in the friendly tones.