Leavesley opened wide the windows, tapped the ashes of his pipe out on a sill, and turned to his aunt, who had taken her seat in an uncomfortable manner on a most comfortable armchair.
"This is an unexpected pleasure!"
Miss Hancock made no reply. It was the first time she had been in the studio, the first time she had been in any studio.
She noticed the dust and the litter. The place was, in fact, extraordinarily untidy, for Belinda, engaged just now in the fascination of a policeman, had scarcely time even for such ordinary household duties as making beds without turning the mattresses, and flinging eggs into frying pans full of hot grease.
As fate would have it, or curiosity rather, Belinda at this moment entered the studio, attired in a sprigged cotton gown four inches shorter in front than behind as if to display to their full a pair of wonderful feet shod in list slippers. Her front hair was bound in Hindes' hair-binders tight down to her head, displaying a protruberant forehead that seemed to have been polished. It was the only thing polished about Belinda, and she made a not altogether pleasing picture as she slunk into the studio to "look for something," but in reality to take stock of the visitor.
It would have been much happier for her if she had stayed away.
She was slinking out again when Miss Hancock, who had been following her every movement, said:
"Stop, please!"
Belinda, with her hand on the door handle, faced round.
"Are you the servant here?"