THE GIRL IN HIS HOUSE
shame. He had neither legal nor moral right behind these curtains.
Had the girl come toward him just then she would have discovered him. He was entranced, incapable of mobility. But she did not come his way. She walked over to a window, out of which she gazed for a while.
She turned, stretched out two incomparable arms—and yawned most humanly. "Oh … dear!"
The curtains were antique Japanese silk tapestries, quite as beautiful and rare as any of the Polish rugs, and the dust of centuries still impregnated the warp and woof.
Having had his nose against the fabric for several minutes, Armitage suddenly trembled with terror. He became conscious of the inclination to sneeze. He struggled valiantly, but to no avail. "At-choo!" he thundered.
"Who's there?" cried the girl in crisp, clear, unaffrighted tones.
