She looked up into his face with a very small smile—­half refusal, half gratitude.  When her eyes met his, she realized that her senses were swimming.  She was standing on a giddy height, to throw herself from which, became an almost imperative inclination.  She felt that she was losing her balance and in another moment would be pitching forward into his arms.  She wanted to tell him to kiss her, and words of violent strength, which she had never dreamed of before, shouted suggestions through her—­even to her lips.  He seemed to be waiting for her to do all this, but made no move to accelerate it; then she swung backwards—­turned blindly to the table, laying down her gloves and the little brown-paper parcel.

“You’re going to take off your hat now,” he said; “this room’s too hot for accessories.”

She showed hesitation, was about to refuse, when he made it plain to her that he would not have it otherwise.

“I’ve taken it off before, you know,” he said with a smile.  “I’m by no means a novice at the art.  You can’t call me an amateur.”

“When—?” she began; “oh, of course, I remember.”

She did not consider her refusal now; she obeyed.  He took the hat from her and her feather boa.  Then he insisted on the removal of the little short-waisted coat.  She demurred again, and again was obedient.  He laid them all down on the settle, then sat for a moment and watched her while she poked her fingers into her hair and pulled it lightly out where the hat had rested.

“Now you look as if you’d come to see me.” he said.

“What did I look like before?”

“I don’t know.  As if you had been and were going away.  But what did you come for?  What have you got to tell me?  I assure you, when I opened that door and found you standing there—­”

“Yes, I’m sure you must have been surprised,” she joined in.

“I was—­considerably.  What do you think of Dolly?”

“Your sister?”

“Yes.”

“I know she doesn’t like me,” she answered evasively.

“What makes you think that?  I don’t think you’re correct.  She hasn’t got you right—­that’s all.”

“No, she hasn’t got me right.  I know she thought I was quite a different person to what I really am.”

“But how do you know that?  She didn’t tell you so when I’d gone out to get that taxi, did she?  What did she say to you then?”

“Oh no, she didn’t tell me what she thought.  Under the circumstances, I’m sure she really treated me very well.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Traill.  “You must admit she was a bit icy at first.  That’s her social way—­the way of the whole set when they meet strangers.  One ought to bring a blast furnace when one goes calling at their houses, instead of a visiting card.  My God, I’ve been to them myself, and I’d sooner undertake a job as look-out on a ship bound for the north pole.  They’d freeze the very marrow in your bones.”