"In the case, in my waistcoat pocket. It's hanging over the back of the chair. What a ridiculous child you are to let that dressing-gown flap open like that. You'll catch your death of cold. Fasten it up—go on!"
She reluctantly did as she was bid; then searched for the case. When she had found it, she came down to the side of his bed and stood there, picking nervously at the cigarette in her fingers.
"Would you like me to blow out the candle?" she asked.
"Oh no, that's all right. I can blow it out from here. You get to the door and see your way out first."
She sat down slowly on the bed by his side, then bent forward, winding one arm around his neck, leaning the full weight of her body upon him.
"Good night," she whispered as her lips touched his.
"By Jove, you do smell of scent!" he exclaimed. "Do you always drown yourself in scent before you go to bed?"
"No." Her mouth was dry, her tongue like leather, scraping against her teeth. "Not always."
"Well, good night, little woman; you read half a page of Macaulay and you'll soon get to sleep. Kiss me."
She kissed him, longingly and then, as he half tried to turn, she felt conscious of her dismissal and rose hurriedly from the bed.