dog retired to his own basket under a distant table. "Oh, I beg your
pardon--but----"

The creature on the floor blinked at Michael with large, round, violet
eyes, but did not move, while she answered aggrievedly--with a very
faint accent, whether a little French or a little American, or a little
of both, he was not sure, only that it had something attractive about
it.

"You may well say 'but'! I did not mean to intrude upon your private
room--but I had to run away from Mr. Greenbank--he was so horrid--" here
she gasped a little for breath--"and I happened to see something like a
door ajar in the Gainsborough room, so I fled through it, and it
fastened after me with a snap--I could not open it again--and it was
pitch dark in that dreadful passage and not a scrap of air--I felt
suffocated, and I pushed on anywhere--and something gave way and I fell
in here--that's all----"

She rattled this out without a stop, and then stared at Michael with her
big, childish eyes, but did not attempt to rise from the floor.

He walked toward her and held out his hand, and with ceremonious and
ironical politeness, he began:

"May I not help you--I could offer you a chair----"

She interrupted him while she struggled up, refusing his proffered hand.

"I've knocked myself against your nasty table--why do you have it in
that place!"