"It's very kind of you. I know you mean it kindly--"

"Of course I do--"

"But I'd rather not."

"Are you afraid?"

She was desperately afraid. Her face, the shaking of her hand where it
was pressed back against the wall, and the catch in her voice
advertised her apprehension. She was afraid of this big young man
confidently lolling before her.

She said weakly: "It would not be right."

Bob sat up. "Is that all?" he laughed. His hands were upon the arms of
the chair, and he made to pull himself up towards her.

She saw her mistake. "No," she cried hurriedly--"no; I would not go
with you in any case."

A shadow flickered upon Bob's face. "What do you mean?"

"I mean what I say. Please let me pass."

"I want to be friends with you. Why can't you let me?"

"Please let me pass. Mr. Chater."

Bob lay back. He said with a laugh, "Well, I'm not stopping you, am