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“Shall go to London and take a studio.”

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MISS Mason was sitting in the lounge of the Wilton Hotel. Mr. Davis—the lawyer—had given her the name of this hotel, telling her that it was both quiet and comfortable.

A tiny cloud had arisen in Miss Mason’s mind. It partially eclipsed the sunshine of her morning mood. She knew vaguely what had caused it.

She had changed her dress on her arrival, donning a black satin gown made in precisely the same style as the cashmere. A lace collar took the place of the linen one. A cameo brooch, large, and set in gold as massive as her watch, superseded the black bow. Miss Mason never wore jewellery except in the evening.

She had dined excellently at a small table in a room adorned with water-colour drawings. Between the courses she had found herself admiring them. She was so intent on them that at first she did not notice the covert smiles which two girls were directing towards her table. When she did, the smiles began to make her feel uncomfortable. At first she wondered if her cap were crooked, or her brooch unpinned, but gradually it dawned on her that it was just she herself who was affording them amusement.