He could just make out her head lifting off the pillow. “If you’re going to smoke I may as well have one, too,” she said. “Then I am going to sleep, and if you disturb me again I’ll throw you out of the room.”
He hurried across the room and gave her a cigarette. The flickering flame of the match lit up her face. She looked up at him, her eyes dark and tired, expressionless.
“You don’t mind me calling you Cora, do you?” George went on, bending over her.
“Call me what you like,” she said, lying back on the pillow. The tip of the cigarette glowed red, and he could just see her straight, small Roman nose.
He sat on the edge of the bed. “Shall I see you again after this?” he repeated, because it was something important, something that was preying on his mind. He couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing her again.
“I suppose so,” she returned indifferently; “only Sydney doesn’t like people hanging around.”
“Doesn’t he?” George was startled. “Why not?”
“You’d better ask him.”
“But that needn’t mean we won’t see each other again, will it?”
“What’s the matter with you?” she asked. “Surely a fellow like you has got dozens of girls.”