CHAPTER V
IN BOHEMIA
IT was nearly seven o’clock in the evening, and through one of the windows of the newly-furnished studio a shaft of sunlight had found its way. It formed a patch of light on the blue drugget on the floor, and caught the corner of an oak dresser on which the old Worcester dinner service was arranged.
There were two figures in the studio, though to the eyes of mortals the place would have seemed empty. The one was in a robe of white and gold, the other in a dress of dull grey. The white-robed figure was sitting in a large chair near an oak chest, on which was a Sèvres bowl. She looked as if she had come to stay. There was an irresolute appearance about the grey-clad figure.
“I can’t stay in this studio with you here,” she said.
“I know,” said the white-robed figure.
“It is my prerogative to be here,” went on the grey-clad figure. “You don’t belong to age.”
The white-robed figure smiled.
“You sit there,” said the grey-clad figure, “as if the place belonged to you.”
“It will,” said the one in white.