Dick pointed to the right. “East—out of the mouth of the river,” said he.
“Then west, then south, and then east again, all along the under-side of Europe. Then south again, God knows how far.” The explanation did not enlighten Bessie in the least, but she held her tongue and looked to Dick’s path till they came to the chambers.
“We’ll have tea and muffins,” he said joyously. “I can’t tell you, Bessie, how glad I am to find you again. What made you go away so suddenly?”
“I didn’t think you’d want me any more,” she said, emboldened by his ignorance.
“I didn’t, as a matter of fact—but afterwards—At any rate I’m glad you’ve come. You know the stairs.”
So Bessie led him home to his own place—there was no one to hinder—and shut the door of the studio.
“What a mess!” was her first word. “All these things haven’t been looked after for months and months.”
“No, only weeks, Bess. You can’t expect them to care.”
“I don’t know what you expect them to do. They ought to know what you’ve paid them for. The dust’s just awful. It’s all over the easel.”
“I don’t use it much now.”