She looked frankly into his eyes.
“Well, don’t do it again, then.”
He tried to look no less frankly back, but it was as if some forbidden thought flashed across his mind.
“I’ll try not,” he said, a trifle lamely, and looked away.
He still kept possession of her hand, however, until she resolutely drew it from him.
“Will Brother Dudley be in?” he asked, when they drew up in Bloomsbury.
“No; he won’t get back much before nine.”
He took her latch-key from her, and opened the door, entering himself, instead of taking her proffered hand.
“Which way?” he asked, and she opened the door into their sitting-room.
“I’ll show you Brother Dudley’s photograph now you’re here,” she said in a frank voice—“and the very latest of Lorraine Vivian. I wish I had one of Apollo; but I’ve never asked for one, because I always make a point of pretending not to admire him.”