The priestess of Amen Ra tried to control a little laugh, and failed bewitchingly. "I am looking for a Mr. Dunbarton," she explained.
The painter drew himself erect and bowed with dignity. "I have the good fortune to bear that name," he said, taking a sidewise step which left his friend a trifle in the background.
"Oh, I am so glad!" cried the lady. "Then perhaps you can tell me where to find a Mr. Morewood?"
"Your humble and devoted servant!" the other man pronounced himself, executing a maneuver which totally eclipsed Dunbarton.
"Really?" asked the lady, her face radiant with pleasure. "How very fortunate!"
At this Morewood fairly beamed with satisfaction, but she went on rapidly, in a silvery ripple of feminine narrative:
"Do you know, Mr. Morewood, that you have something of mine and I have something of yours? It was not my fault and it wasn't yours, either; it was the stupid person in the parcel room of the Museum. Of course two Kodaks are exactly alike, if one of them hasn't got a name scratched on the bottom with a pin; but I don't suppose he ever thought of looking, so he gave you mine and me yours, and I should never have found out who you were if you hadn't been arrested. Of course it wouldn't have made very much difference, after all, if my Cousin Jack hadn't snapped me in a most ridiculous Egyptian fancy dress."
Dunbarton gave a groan as of agony suppressed, and Morewood's face might have been in color a fragment of the sacerdotal robe of Ra.
"Oh!" moaned the painter, "if I could only howl!"
"Don't mind him, please!" the other man pleaded. "You see, I, too, had used a film, and we were rather interested in seeing how it came out."