The elevator opposite her door buzzed up and down unheeded.

She did not even notice when it stopped on her floor, and some one walked across the corridor with a heavy tread.

But the whirr of her door bell brought her to herself with a start, and she looked up impatiently, half inclined to pay no attention to the interruption.

Then thinking it might be some business message which she could not afford to delay, she hurried to the door, brush and palette still in hand.
"Why, Phil Tremont!" she exclaimed, so surprised at sight of the tall young man who filled the doorway that she stood for an instant in open-mouthed wonder.

"Where did _you_ drop from?
I thought you were in the wilds of Oregon or some such borderland.