She stood contemplating her sketch, the cigarette balanced between her fingers; then, of a sudden, she turned swiftly around to confront him.
"Mr. Cleland, it is a dreadful and foolish and irrational thing that Steve has done, and I know you are justly angry. But—she is a darling in spite of being a feather-head sometimes. You will forgive her, won't you?"
"Of course. After all, it is her business."
Helen sighed:
"You are angry. But please don't lose interest in her. She's so loyal to you. She adores you, Mr. Cleland——"
A key rattled in the lock; the door swung open; into the dusky studio stepped a slender figure, charmingly buoyant and graceful in the fading light.
"Helen, they're to send our costumes in an hour. They are the most fascinating things——"
Stephanie's voice ceased abruptly. There was a silence.
"Who is—that?" she asked unsteadily.
Helen turned and went quietly away toward her bed-room. Stephanie stood as though frozen, then reached forward and pressed the electric button with a gloved finger that trembled.