“Gracious!” she whispered.
He started to walk across the floor, and a board creaked; he finished the journey to his door on tiptoe, half ashamed and angry at taking such a precaution. It gave an air of the illicit to the occasion. At the door he turned.
She had remained standing beside his chair. He could not shake hands with her without going back. But why was he hurrying away in such a frightened manner, as if he had done something wrong? He recrossed the room and held out his hand.
“Good night, Phyllis.”
“Good night, Felix Fay.”
He walked boldly back to his own room, and closed the door with a defiant bang.
4
It had been very beautiful.... And why, now, must it be so awkward, the task of finding a place for this beauty in his ordinary life?
Explanations!...
Rose-Ann would understand, of course. But, even so, the telling of it was difficult. He could think of no words to convey the simplicity and naturalness of the incident.