self-respect, Louisa dropped at the feet of Helena, laid her arm and her
head languishingly on the knee of her friend. The latter gave no sign,
but continued to gaze in the fire. Byrne, on the other side of the
hearth, sprawled in his chair, smoking a reflective cigarette.

The room was very quiet, silent even of the tick of a clock. Outside,
the traffic swept by, and feet pattered along the pavement. But this
vulgar storm of life seemed shut out of Helena's room, that remained
indifferent, like a church. Two candles burned dimly as on an altar,
glistening yellow on the dark piano. The lamp was blown out, and the
flameless fire, a red rubble, dwindled in the grate, so that the yellow
glow of the candles seemed to shine even on the embers. Still no
one spoke.

At last Helena shivered slightly in her chair, though did not change her
position. She sat motionless.

'Will you make coffee, Louisa?' she asked. Louisa lifted herself, looked
at her friend, and stretched slightly.

'Oh!' she groaned voluptuously. 'This is so comfortable!'

'Don't trouble then, I'll go. No, don't get up,' said Helena, trying to
disengage herself. Louisa reached and put her hands on Helena's wrists.

'I will go,' she drawled, almost groaning with voluptuousness and
appealing love.

Then, as Helena still made movements to rise, the elder woman got up
slowly, leaning as she did so all her weight on her friend.