think so? don't you feel the same?" And once she stopped,
and said "Oh, do interrupt me!" which terrified him. She
did not attract him, though she filled him with awe. Her
figure was meagre, her face seemed all teeth and eyes, her
references to her sister and brother were uncharitable. For
all her cleverness and culture, she was probably one of
those soulless, atheistical women who have been so shown up
by Miss Corelli. It was surprising (and alarming) that she
should suddenly say, "I do hope that you'll come in and have
some tea."

"I do hope that you'll come in and have some tea. We
should be so glad. I have dragged you so far out of your way."

They had arrived at Wickham Place. The sun had set, and
the backwater, in deep shadow, was filling with a gentle
haze. To the right of the fantastic skyline of the flats
towered black against the hues of evening; to the left the
older houses raised a square-cut, irregular parapet against
the grey. Margaret fumbled for her latchkey. Of course she
had forgotten it. So, grasping her umbrella by its ferrule,
she leant over the area and tapped at the dining-room window.

"Helen! Let us in!"

"All right," said a voice.

"You've been taking this gentleman's umbrella."

"Taken a what?" said Helen, opening the door. "Oh,