He remained standing at his easel, very busy with his string and lump of
charcoal; but after a while it occurred to him that she was taking an
annoyingly long time about a simple matter.

"What on earth is the trouble?" he called. "Do you realise you've been
in there a quarter of an hour?"

She made no answer. A second later he thought he heard an indistinct
sound--and it disquieted him.

"Miss West?"

There was no reply.

Impatient, a little disturbed, he walked across to the folding doors;
and the same low, suppressed sound caught his ear.

"What in the name of--" he began, walking into the room; and halted,
amazed.

She sat all huddled together behind the screen, partly undressed, her
face hidden in her hands; and between the slender fingers tears ran down
brightly.

"Are you ill?" he asked, anxiously.

After a moment she slowly shook her head.

"Then--what in the name of Mike--"