And he disappeared. She heard him below tramping to the telephone. Then she went to a small square window in the studio, pushed it open, and looked out. There was a tiny space of garden below. She saw a plane tree shivering in the wind, yellow leaves on the rain-sodden ground. A sparrow flitted by and perched on the grimy coping of a low wall. And she shivered like the plane tree.
“Beryl!”
She started, turned, and went to the head of the stairs.
“What is it?”
“The telephone’s for you. Come along down!”
“Coming!” she answered.
“Who is it?” she said, as she saw him standing by the telephone with the receiver in his hand.
“Some old woman, by the voice. She says she must speak to you. Here—take it, my girl!”
“It must be old Fanny!” said Miss Van Tuyn, with a touch of irritation. “Nobody else would know I was here. But I stupidly told Fanny.”
She took the receiver out of his hand.