“I don’t think he will be angry at all,” Nancy said. “I think he will be very much surprised and pleased to see both of us. Turn around, dear, and let me be sure that you’re neat.”
Sheila turned obediently. Nancy fumbled with her pocket mirror, and then thought better of it, but passed a precautionary hand over the back of her hair to reassure herself as to its arrangement, and straightened her hat.
“Now we’re ready,” she said.
But Sheila put out her hand, and clutched at Nancy’s sleeve.
“There’s some one in there,” she said, “somebody crying. Oh! don’t let’s go in, Miss Dear.”
From behind the closed door there issued suddenly 246 the confused murmur of voices, one—a woman’s—rising and falling in the cadence of distress, the other low pitched in exasperated expostulation.
“It’s Collier,” Nancy said mechanically, “and some woman with him.”
Sheila shrank closer into the protecting shelter of her arms.
“Don’t let’s go in, Miss Dear,” she repeated.
“It may be just some model,” Nancy said. “We’ll wait a minute here and see if she doesn’t come out.”