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The curtains were down, the carpet was up, and a dust sheet was spread under the table in the middle of the floor. "Here's some friends of yours," said the guardian, throwing her words across the room. In an easy chair near the fireplace sat Miss Nickall, her arm in splints and in a sling. She was very thin and very pallid, and her eyes brightly glittered.
Miss Nickall ran away home at once. Miss Thompkins was left to deliver Miss Ingate and Audrey at Nick's studio, which, being in the Rue Delambre, was not far away. And not the shedding of the kimono and the re-assumption of European attire could affect Audrey's spirits.
"I am," Miss Ingate almost ecstatically admitted. The trio in cloaked fancy dress were surrounding Miss Ingate like a bodyguard. Miss Thompkins and Miss Nickall were a charm to dissipate all the affrighting menace of the city beyond the station. Miss Thompkins had fluffy red hair, with the freckles which too often accompany red hair, and was addressed as Tommy.
Lastly she was aware of a most irrational objection to the manner in which Miss Nickall and Musa said good night to one another, and the obvious fact that Musa in less than an hour had reached terms of familiarity with Jane Foley. She thought: "I haven't the faintest idea why he has given up his practising in Paris to come to see me.
"Does Miss Nickall live here?" asked Audrey. "Aye! She does!" came the answer, with a northern accent. "We've come to see how she is." "Happen ye'd better step inside, then," said the young woman. They stepped inside to an enormous and obscure interior; the guardian banged the door, and negligently led them forward.
Tommy was right: there did seem to be a certain unreality about the thing, yet it was utterly real. All the women turned to glance at the name through the window, and some of them murmured sympathetic and interested exclamations and bright hopes. There were five women: Miss Thompkins, Miss Nickall, Madame Piriac, Miss Ingate and Audrey. And there was one man Mr. Gilman.
"Well, then," said Miss Nickall kindly, "come with me and Tommy. We haven't anything to do, and I'm taking Tommy to see Jane Foley. Jane would love to see you." "She might," replied Miss Ingate. "Oh! She might. But I think I'll walk across to the hotel and just go to bed and sleep it off." "Sleep what off?" asked Tommy, with necklace rattling and orchidaceous eyes glittering. "Oh! Everything!
At the chief garden gate of the Spatt residence they came upon Miss Nickall, trying to open it. The sling round her arm made her unmistakable. And Miss Nickall having allowed them to recover from a pardonable astonishment at the sight of her who was supposed to be exhausted and in bed, said cheerfully: "I've found him, and I've put him up at the Excelsior Hotel." Mrs.
She, Audrey, little Audrey, scarcely yet convinced that she was grown up, was necessary to the genius whom all the Quarter worshipped! Miss Thompkins was not necessary to him, Miss Nickall was not necessary to him, though both had helped to provide the means to keep him alive. She herself alone was necessary to him. And she had not guessed it. She had not even hoped for it.
Instantly her calmness, of which she had been so proud, was dashed to pieces and she had scarcely begun in a hurry to pick the pieces up and put them together again when the attendant entered the drawing-room. She was afraid, but she thought she was happy. Only it was not Mr. Gilman the attendant announced. The man said: "Mademoiselle Nickall."
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