Miss Ingate, as she was putting on her spectacles, remarked:

"I hope you weren't hurt--me not coming with you and Musa in the taxi from
the gardens this afternoon, dear."

"Me? Oh no!"

"It wasn't that I was so vehy interested in my sketch. But to my mind
there's nothing more ridiculous than several women all looking after one
man. Miss Thompkins thought so, too."

"Oh! Did she?... What does Nick say?"

Miss Ingate had put the letter flat on the table in the full glare of the
lamp, and was leaning over it, her grey hair brilliantly illuminated.
Audrey kept in the shadow and in the distance. Miss Ingate had a habit of
reading to herself under her breath. She read slowly, and turned pages over
with a deliberate movement.

"Well," said Miss Ingate twisting her head sideways so as to see Audrey
standing like a ghost afar off. "Well, she _has_ been going it! She's
broken a window in Oxford Street with a hammer; she had one night in the
cells for that. And she'd have had to go to prison altogether only some
unknown body paid the fine for her. She says: 'There are some mean persons
in the world, and he was one. I feel sure it was a man, and an American,
too. The owners of the shops are going to bring a law action against me
for the value of the plate-glass. It is such fun. And our leaders are
splendid and so in earnest. They say we are doing a great historical work,
and we are. The London correspondent of the _New York Times_ interviewed me
because I am American. I did not want to be interviewed, but our