"Agreeable, Julie?" he said. "Why do you give the word that twist? Why shouldn't it be agreeable?"
Jean felt like an animal in a trap, but she faced Mrs. Van Ostade with head erect and unflinching eyes.
"Yes; why?" she demanded.
Julie seemed to weigh a reply which prudent second thought bade her check.
"How tragic you two have suddenly become," she drawled. "Isn't it possible that the exacting Richter may have a prior claim? I am only too happy that Jean can find time to revisit the studio—and meet Mr. Satterlee. I hope, Craig, you will be present yourself?"
Atwood looked frankly distressed over the rancorous turn the discussion had taken.
"If you'll wait for me, Jean," he said, "we will walk over together. Miss Hepworth is to give me a sitting at three."
Jean went heavy-hearted to her room and flung herself down to wonder dully how it would end. Drowsiness overtook her in these unprofitable questionings, and, spent with her wearing night, she fell into a deep slumber which shut out all thought till a knock called her back to face reality smugly embodied in a servant with a card-tray.
Paul! The bit of pasteboard fluttered to the floor. What brought him here? Then, perceiving a gleam of human curiosity light the face of the automaton with the tray, she gripped her self-control and bade the man tell Bartlett that she would see him.
"It's Amy," explained the dentist, rising from a respectful survey of Mrs. Van Ostade's drawing-room. "Nothing will do her but that you must come up to the flat. It isn't a thing I could 'phone or I wouldn't have broken in on you like this, let alone hustling down here between appointments and maybe missing other patients."