. . . Poor Dick! He deserved one,--only one.
But I didn't think he'd frighten me so."
Dick returned to town next day just in time for lunch, for which he had
telegraphed. To his disgust, there were only empty plates in the studio.
He lifted up his voice like the bears in the fairy-tale, and Torpenhow entered,
looking guilty.
"H'sh!" said he. "Don't make such a noise. I took it. Come into my rooms, and
I'll show you why."
Dick paused amazed at the threshold, for on Torpenhow's sofa lay a girl asleep
and breathing heavily. The little cheap sailor-hat, the blue-and-white dress,
fitter for June than for February, dabbled with mud at the skirts, the jacket
trimmed with imitation Astrakhan and ripped at the shoulder-seams, the one-and-
elevenpenny umbrella, and, above all, the disgraceful condition of the kid-
topped boots, declared all things.
"Oh, I say, old man, this is too bad! You mustn't bring this sort up here. They
steal things from the rooms."
"It looks bad, I admit, but I was coming in after lunch, and she staggered into
the hall. I thought she was drunk at first, but it was collapse. I couldn't
leave her as she was, so I brought her up here and gave her your lunch. She was
fainting from want of food.
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