“I am afraid,” he said, as he led the way towards the exit, “that I must go back to work.  Thank you so much for coming and taking pity upon a lonely man, Miss Lane.”

“You can have all that sort of pity you like,” she whispered.

“Then I shall certainly make demands upon it,” he assured her, as they parted at the door.

He found himself presently back in the cool and pleasantly austere surroundings of his sitting room and threw himself into an easy-chair drawn up in front of the wide-flung windows.  A strong breeze, against which a flight of seagulls leaned, was stirring the trees in the Embankment Gardens and ruffling the surface of the water.  The pall of smoke eastward seemed here and there cloven by a wind-swept avenue of clearer spaces.  He felt a sudden and passionate distaste for his recent environment,—­the faint perfume which had crept out from the girl’s hair and face as she had leaned towards him, the brushing of her clothes against his, the daring exposure of silk stocking, the continual flirtatious appeal of her eyes and lips.  He felt himself in revolt against even that faint instinct of toleration which her prettiness and at times subtle advances had kindled in him.  He let his thoughts rest upon the more wonderful things which smouldered in his brain and leaped like fire through his veins when he dared to think of them.  The room seemed suddenly purified, made fit for her presence.

“I am sure that Mr. Wingate will see me if he is alone,” he heard a familiar voice say.

He sprang to his feet, realising in those few moments into what paradise his thoughts had been climbing, and greeted Lady Dredlinton.

Josephine accepted the easy-chair which he wheeled up for her and glanced around the room critically.

“Just what I expected,” she murmured.  “A nice healthy man’s room, without too much furniture, and with plenty of books.  You are wondering why I came, of course.”

“I am too content with the good fortune which brought you to find time for wonder,” he replied.

“You’ll laugh at me when I tell you,” she warned him.

“You needn’t tell me at all unless you like.  You are here.  That is enough for me.”

She shook her head.

“I am putting myself in the confessional,” she declared.  “I was leaving the place with a disagreeable taste in my mouth.  At the last moment, even as I was stepping into a taxicab, I turned back.  I went instead to the desk and boldly asked for the number of your suite.  I want that taste removed, please.”

“Tell me how I can do it in the quickest possible manner,” he begged.

She turned and looked at him, enquiringly at first, then with a delightful little smile which relieved all the tenseness of her expression.

“By assuring me that you are not going to emulate, in however innocent a fashion, my husband’s exploits in the musical comedy world.”