A few days after her return, Irene left home in the morning to make an unceremonious call.

She was driven to Great Portland Street and alighted before a shop, which bore the number of the house she sought.
Having found the private entrance--a door that stood wide open--and after ringing once or twice without drawing anyone's attention, she began to ascend the uncarpeted stairs.

At that moment there came down a young woman humming an air; a cheery-faced, solidly-built damsel, dressed with attention to broad effect in colours which were then--or recently had been--known as "aesthetic." With some diffidence, for the encounter was not of a kind common in her experience, Irene asked this person for a direction to the rooms occupied by Miss Hannaford.
"Oh, she's my chum," was the genial reply.

"Top floor, front.

You'll find her there." With thanks the visitor passed on, but had not climbed half a dozen steps when the clear-sounding voice caused her to stop.
"Beg your pardon and all that kind of thing, but would you mind telling her that Tomkins is huffy?
I forgot to mention it before I came out.
Thanks, awfully." Puzzled, if not disconcerted, Miss Derwent reached the top floor and knocked.