wept in the station, why you invented the story of the actress, why you came here to brighten my drab exile—what this whole comedy of Bald- pate Inn amounts to, anyhow? I assure you I am as innocent of understanding it as is the czar of Russia on his golden throne."
She only looked at him with unbelieving eyes.
"You can hardly expect me to credit that," she said. "I must go up now and read mamma into the pleasant land of thin girlish figures that is her afternoon siesta. I may come back and talk to you after a while, but I don't promise to ex plain."
"Come back," pleaded Mr. Magee. "That is all I ask."
"A tiny boon," she smiled. "I grant it."
She followed the generous figure of the other woman up the stair and, casting back a dazzling smile from the landing, disappeared. Mr. Magee turned to find Professor Bolton discoursing to Mr. Bland on some aspects of the Pagan Renais sance. Mr. Bland's face was pained.
"That's great stuff, Professor," he said, "and
