But Teddie did not go gloom-riding in Central Park. For when she opened the door to what she thought to be a taxi-driver she found Gerry West there with his hat in his hand and a look of triumph in his eyes.
"Well, I've got it back," he announced, only momentarily abashed by the iciness of her manner.
"Got what back?" asked Teddie, without so much as asking him to step inside.
"Your car," explained Gerry, entering the abode of art on his own hook. "It's down at the door. And I had 'em put on a new pair of lamps on the way over."
"I'm sure that was very kind of you," Teddie coldly admitted. But her attitude was something more than unbending. It was distinctly hostile. For there were certain things which she wasn't quite able to forget.
"Say, Teddie," demanded her quick-eyed visitor, entirely ignoring her expression in his comprehensive stare about the studio, "what in the name of heaven are you doing in a dump like this?"
