“Kirk!”
Kirk came down the passage. He was looking brown and healthy. He was in his shirt-sleeves.
“Oh, Mr. Winfield. I’m in such trouble.”
“Why, Mamie! What’s the matter? Come in.”
Mamie followed him into the studio, eluding Mr. Penway, whose arm was hovering in the neighbourhood of her waist.
“Sit down,” said Kirk. “What’s the trouble? Have you been trying to get at me before? We’ve been down to Long Beach.”
“A delightful spot,” observed Mr. Penway, who had followed. “Sandy, but replete with squabs. Why didn’t you come earlier? We could have taken you.”
“May I talk privately with you, Mr. Winfield?”
“Sure.”
Kirk looked at Mr. Penway, who nodded agreeably.