"In that case," continued the persistently suave voice, "perhaps it would be advisable for me to run up to see you, so that there may be no undue loss of time."
Teddie wavered, for all too recent events had been combining to test the metal of her emancipation. Yet disturbed as she may have been, she was not without still undrained reservoirs of courage.
"Yes, that might be better," she finally admitted.
"I shall be up within an hour," was the crisp ultimatum with which the brief colloquy was concluded.
And Teddie, reverting to her pretense of working, felt more than ever alone in the world. Life seemed emptier than on the day she had learned her curate had married the Chautauqua singer, emptier even than that black day when the butler, acting under orders from above-stairs, had drowned her mongrel pup for merely eating the tapestry off a library Chesterfield. And her new environment, as she stared about the high-ceilinged studio, seemed to stand as bald as that denuded
