course she had had to open the door herself.

She obeyed his command like an intelligent little mouse, and he sat
down on the edge of the bed. He might inspire foreboding, alarm, even
terror. But he was in the flat. He was the saviour, man, in the flat.
And his coming was in the nature of a miracle. He might have been out;
he might have been entertaining; he might have been engaged; he might
well have said that he could not come until the next day. Never before
had she made such a request, and he had acceded to it immediately!
Her mood was one of frightened triumph. He was being most damnably
himself; his demeanour was as faultless as his dress. She could not
even complain that he had forgotten to kiss her. He said nothing about
her transgression of the rule as to telephoning. He was waiting, with
his exasperating sense of justice and self-control, until she
had acquainted him with her case. Instead of referring coldly and
disapprovingly to the matter of the telephone, he said in a judicious,
amicable voice:

"I doubt whether your coiffeur is all that he ought to be. I see you
had your hair waved to-day."

"Yes, why?"

"You should tell the fellow to give you the new method of hair-waving,
steaming with electric heaters--or else go where you can get it."

"New method?" repeated Christine the Tory doubtfully. And then with
sudden sexual suspicion:

"Who told you about it?"