The change in her manner would have crushed the hope in any man. Shunning him like a leper, she now drew close and laid her hand on his arm.
“I can’t tell you here. It’s too dangerous, too many people coming and going.”
“It was Jim?”
“It was. It’s quite a story, more than just seeing him. But we’ve got to get somewhere away from all these damned doors——”
One of them opened—that into the hall behind them. They heard it and wheeled round, faces sharp-set in defensive interrogation. It was Flora Stokes. She rested on the threshold looking at them, and Stokes, his senses more alert than the girl’s, withdrew his arm from her clasp.
“Oh, Flora,” he said, his voice supremely light and easy. “Were you looking for me?”
Mrs. Stokes said no, she had come to put her book back. She walked slowly to a table and placed her book on the corner. The room was very still as she did this. Stokes, his hands deep in his pockets, moved his head, following her progress as if it roused his curiosity. The girl stood without a sound, the scene passing under her eyes with a mirage-like unreality.
“It seems I’ve intruded,” said Mrs. Stokes, each syllable meticulously clear and precise. “But if you want to be alone I should think you’d have chosen another place.”
“Having chosen this is a pretty good proof we didn’t want to be alone,” retorted her husband.
She gave a light jeering sound of disbelief and walked to the entrance. On the sill she turned and looked at them with smoldering eyes: