She found herself in a
bare-floored room, furnished with a table, a chair or two, and a divan,
on the walls a strange exhibition of designs in glaring colours which
seemed to be studies for street posters. At the table, bending over a
drawing-board, sat Olga Hannaford, her careless costume and the
disorder of her hair suggesting that she had only just got up. She
recognised her visitor with some embarrassment.

"Irene--I am so glad--I really am ashamed--we keep such hours
here--please don't mind!"

"Not I, indeed! What is there to mind? I spoke to someone downstairs
who gave me a message for you. I was to say that Tomkins was huffy. Do
you understand?"

Olga bit her lip in vexation, and to restrain a laugh.

"No, that's too bad! But just like her. That was the girl I live
with--Miss Bonnicastle. She's very nice really--not a bit of harm in
her; but she will play these silly practical jokes."

"Ah, it was a joke?" said Irene, not altogether pleased with Miss
Bonnicastle's facetiousness. But the next moment, good humour coming to
her help, she broke into merriment.

"That's what she does," said Olga, pointing to the walls. "She's
awfully clever really, and she'll make a great success with that sort
of thing before long, I'm sure. Look at that advertisement of Honey's
Castor Oil. Isn't the child's face splendid?"

"Very clever indeed," assented Irene, and laughed again, her cousin
joining in her mirth. Five minutes ago she had felt anything but
hilarious; the impulse to gaiety came she knew not how, and she
indulged it with a sense of relief.

"Are you doing the same sort of thing, Olga?"

"Wish I could. I've a little work for a new fashion paper; have to fill
in the heads and arms, and so on. It isn't high art, you know, but they
pay me."

"Why in the world do you do it? _Why_ do you live in a place like this?"

"Oh, I like the life; on the whole. It's freedom; no society
nonsense--I beg your pardon, Irene----"

"Please don't. I hope I'm not much in the way of society nonsense. Sit
down; I want to talk. When did you see your mother?"

"Not for a long time," answered Olga, her countenance falling. "I sent
her the new address when I came here, but she hasn't been yet."

"Why don't you go to her?"

"No! I've broken with that world. I can't make calls in Bryanston
Square--or anywhere else. That's all over."

"Nonsense!"

"It isn't nonsense!" exclaimed Olga, flushing angrily. "Why do you come
to interfer