at dinner, and it had passed beyond the point when she could
say that it did not matter what people thought as long as she and
he understood. It had now reached that stage when she was not
quite sure that she understood either him or herself. They had
known each other for a very long time; too long, she sometimes
thought, for them ever to grow to know each other any better.
But there was always the chance that he had another side, one
that had not disclosed itself, and which she could not discover
in the strict social environment in which they both lived. And
she was the surer of this because she had once seen him when he
did not know that she was near, and he had been so different that
it had puzzled her and made her wonder if she knew the real
Reggie King at all.

It was at a dance at a studio, and some French pantomimists gave
a little play. When it was over, King sat in the corner talking
to one of the Frenchwomen, and while he waited on her he was
laughing at her and at her efforts to speak English. He was
telling her how to say certain phrases and not telling her
correctly, and she suspected this and was accusing him of it, and
they were rhapsodizing and exclaiming over certain delightful
places and dishes of which they both knew in Paris with the
enthusiasm of two children. Miss Langham saw him off his guard
for the first time and instead of a somewhat bored and clever
man of the world, he appeared as sincere and interested as a boy.

When he joined her, later, the same evening, he was as
entertaining as usual, and as polite and attentive as he had been
to the Frenchwoman, but he was not greatly interested, and his
laugh was modulated and not spontaneous. She had wondered that