"Go away?" repeated Mrs. Gowan. "What does this mean? Let me in at once."
"Depart!" hissed Little O'Grady. "This is not Mr. Prochnow's day. Come to-morrow."
"Step aside, O'Grady," said Kitty Gowan spunkily. "Let me pass." An afternoon of shopping had tired her and shortened her temper.
"Well, as a visitor, possibly," said O'Grady condescendingly. "Ignace, do you feel disposed to——" He glanced back and forth between Prochnow and the petitioners.
Prochnow took down the canvas and set its face against the wall.
Kitty Gowan strode in holding her head high. "How do?" she said carelessly, by way of general salute. "Sit there, Medora," she directed Mrs. Joyce, indicating a chair.
"Sit here, Medora," said O'Grady firmly, placing another. "Prochnow, Preciosa dear, allow me to present——" and so on. "And you sit here," he said to Kitty Gowan, placing a third chair. "You're a visitor, remember," he whispered to her fiercely; "so behave like one. Stay where you're put and don't own the earth. We have loaned the shop for the day. Understand?"
Preciosa passed lightly over Kitty Gowan, whom she found brusque in her manners and plain in her looks; but she fixed her best attention on Medora, with whom she was as much charmed as at the first. Idealist and heroine-worshipper, she was always ready to prostrate herself before a young married woman of Medora's gracious and fashionable cast.
O'Grady lingered over Medora's chair. "We've had a wonderful session," he said, laying his hand affectionately on her shoulder. "You ought to have come a bit sooner, my dear."
Preciosa shivered. It was like the profanation of an idol.