WHITEWASH
harassing. How was one to tell a lady, young, pretty, and bewitchingly gowned, just what a mean, wretched example of humanity she really was! Morton would vastly have preferred a dozen tigers or as many famished duns. But he buckled on his mail of insensibility and justice, and relentlessly proceeded.
As they drew up before the vast, yellow side of the studio building, he collected himself and assumed a formally polite manner, calculated to strike terror into any less businesslike and well-administered citadel than Mrs. Durham's heart.
As he entered the restaurant, the lady rose to meet him, brisk, frank, and energetic.
"Good morning, Mr. Conway. Of course you've been vastly annoyed. I quite understand. And the sooner it's over, the better. Isn't that so?"
He noted with annoyance that she seemed even fresher, younger, more self-possessed, and more beautifully tailored than ever.
"You understand the nature of my visit, then?" he inquired, coldly.
"Oh, dear, yes. You want me to explain what
