“Studio let?” demanded Dan.
“Yes, sir,” was the reply. “Bringing in the furniture, sir. Nice day, but warm.”
“Who’s taken the studio?” demanded Dan.
“Can’t remember the lady’s name at the moment, sir. Elderly lady with grey hair. Saw her when——”
“An old lady!” interrupted Dan. His voice held at least three notes of disgust.
“Yes, sir, she——”
But Dan had vanished up the garden path of studio number six, had banged on the door, and entered without waiting for permission.
A man in his shirtsleeves was standing before an easel. A nude model was half sitting, half lying, on the platform.
“I say, Barnabas,” he began. Then he saw the model. “Morning, Tilly. Sorry I interrupted.”
“Oh, it’s all right,” said the man addressed, good-humouredly. “I thought it was your fairy footfall before I heard the knock. What’s the trouble? Have you stuck the Messonnier painting on an envelope in mistake for a postage stamp and put it in the pillar-box? You’d better take a rest now, Tilly, while Mr. Oldfield disburdens his mind.”