As he entered, on this first occasion, she was practising at a grand
piano which stood before one of the windows. She rose at once, and,
having greeted him warmly, made him sit down among the comfortable
cushions that lined the sofa. Then she took cups and saucers from a
cupboard in the wall, and prepared tea over a spirit-lamp. He soon
felt quite at home with her, and enjoyed himself so well that many
such informal visits followed.

But the fact was not to be denied: it was her surroundings that
attracted him, rather than she herself. True, he found her frankness
delightfully "refreshing," and when he spoke of her, it was as of an
"awfully good sort," "a first-class girl"; for Madeleine was
invariably lively, kind and helpful. At the same time, she was without
doubt a trifle too composed, too sure of herself; she had too keen an
eye for human foibles; she came towards you with a perfectly natural
openness, and she came all the way--there was nothing left for you to
explore. And when not actually with her, it was easy to forget her;
there was never a look or a smile, never a barbed word, never a sudden
spontaneous gesture--the vivid translation of a thought--to stamp itself
on your memory.

But it was only at the outset that he thought things like these.
Madeleine Wade had been through experiences of the same kind before;
and hardly a fortnight later they were calling each other by their
Christian names.

When he came to her, towards evening, tired and inclined to be lonely,
she seated him in a corner of the sofa, and did not ask him to say
much until she had made the tea. Then, when the cups were steaming in
front of them, she discussed sympathetically with him the progress of