'I beg your pardon.' The deep voice was measured, even, and low. Conroy
knew what made it so.

'I said "don't"! He wouldn't like you to do it!'

'No, he would not.' She held the tube with its ever-presented tabloid
between finger and thumb. 'But aren't you one of the--ah--"soul-weary"
too?'

'That's why. Oh, please don't! Not at first. I--I haven't had one since
morning. You--you'll set me off!'

'You? Are you so far gone as that?'

He nodded, pressing his palms together. The train jolted through
Vauxhall points, and was welcomed with the clang of empty milk-cans
for the West.

After long silence she lifted her great eyes, and, with an innocence
that would have deceived any sound man, asked Conroy to call her maid to
bring her a forgotten book.

Conroy shook his head. 'No. Our sort can't read. Don't!'

'Were you sent to watch me?' The voice never changed.

'Me? I need a keeper myself much more--_this_ night of all!'

'This night? Have you a night, then? They disbelieved _me_ when I told
them of mine.' She leaned back and laughed, always slowly. 'Aren't