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Again there was a silence.

“Where will you take your studio?” asked the woman suddenly.

“Chelsea,” said Miss Mason. “Whistler lived there.”

“Conclusive,” laughed the woman.

“Want it to be a nice studio,” said Miss Mason. “Rent won’t matter. Miss Stanhope left me a lot of money. Can’t spend it all.”

“Now the fairy tale progresses,” said the woman joyfully. “Plenty of money and fairy tale ideas are the happiest of combinations.”

Miss Mason laughed.

“Glad I met you,” she said. “Feel like I did when I came up in the train this morning.”

“Our meeting was evidently part of the fairy tale,” said the woman. “Now I must go and get my cloak. It’s five minutes to nine.”

She went towards the stairs. Miss Mason watched her ascending them.

A moment after she had left, a man came into the lounge. He was wearing a thin dark grey overcoat, and held a flat black hat in one hand. Miss Mason had never before seen an opera hat. She looked at it with interest. From it she looked at the man. He was tall and distinctly aristocratic-looking. Miss Mason noticed that he wore a small moustache and imperial.