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Amy and Monty were no longer listening. Patricia gave Jack a warning glance. What he said, so far as she understood it at all, appeared to be ridiculous.

"I must go." Monty rose. He bent over Patricia. "You'll come on Friday. At eight o'clock? Splendid." Neither of the others heard him. Swarthy and regal, he moved slowly into his overcoat and swept them a slight bow upon leaving. With his going, there went from the studio, for Patricia, all vividness of interest. She was prepared to look with distaste at both of her remaining companions. To them the inevitable squabble might be—must be—of importance, but she felt she was tired of them. They bored her. They took themselves too seriously. It was all thoroughly ugly and absurd. People with only one idea!

She waited, enduring the opening stages of a wrangle.

"My dear Jack. Why you must make a fool of yourself...." began Amy, as soon as the door had closed. The trouble continued. Saying nothing, Patricia put on her coat.

"I'm going," she announced, curtly; and left them to their self-important disagreement.