He sat down to begin where he had left off in that pivotal situation in his masterpiece.
He read and re-read the last two or three pages of the manuscript, struggling to pick up the threads where he had dropped them.

With each reading he became more convinced that his work for that afternoon was spoiled.

And by whom?
By _what ?_ A little fiercely he packed his pipe with fresh tobacco.

Then he leaned back, lighted it, and laughed.

More and more as the minutes passed he permitted himself to think of the strange young woman whose beauty and personality had literally projected themselves into his workshop.