seemed to reflect all the cold lights in her nature. But he forgot the
stagnant town, the bald-headed man at the club window, the organ and
"The Manola." Despite her generalizing on men, with its unexpressed
avowal of her deep-seated belief in physical weapons, she had chosen
aright in her armoury. His brain had to acknowledge it. There again was
the link between them. When at last he got up to go, she said:

"I suppose you will soon be leaving London?"

"I expect to get away on the fifteenth. Are you staying on?"

"I dare say I shall. You wonder what I do here?"

"Yes."

"I am out a great deal on my balcony. When you came I was there."

She made a movement towards it.

"Would you like to see my view?"

"Thank you."

As he followed her through the window space, he was suddenly very
conscious of the physical charm that clung about her. All her movements
were expressive, seemed very specially hers. They were like an integral
part of a character--her character. They had almost the individuality of
an expression in the eyes. And in her character, in her individuality,
mingled with much he hated was there not something that charmed? He
asked himself the question as he stood near her on the balcony. And now,