quick, short pants." (This last might perhaps be done by
one of the hotel bellboys, but otherwise it is hard to
imagine.)

And The Woman--"Noiseless as his step had been, she seemed
to _sense_ his presence. A wave seemed to sweep over her
--She turned and rose fronting him full." This doesn't
mean that he was full when she fronted him. Her gown--but
we know about that already. "It was a coward's trick,"
she panted.

Now if The Man had had the kind of _savoir faire_ that
I have, he would have said: "Oh, pardon me! I see this
room is 341. My own room is 343, and to me a _one_ and
a _three_ often look so alike that I seem to have walked
into 341 while looking for 343." And he could have
explained in two words that he had no idea that she was
in New York, was not following her, and not proposing to
interfere with her in any way. And she would have explained
also in two sentences why and how she came to be there.
But this wouldn't do. Instead of it, The Man and The
Woman go through the grand snoopopathic scene which is
so intense that it needs what is really a new kind of
language to convey it.

"Helene," he croaked, reaching out his arms--his voice
tensed with the infinity of his desire.

"Back," she iced. And then, "Why have you come here?"
she hoarsed. "What business have you here?"