"You see the bad clever man would probably think out something that would have the same effect as the good clever woman. They never would think out the same thing, but each 'd think out what would help you."
"But you've just said I'm a bad clever man. Why shouldn't I work out my own trouble?"
"Oh, you're bad enough," she answered, "but you're not clever enough."
He smiled grimly. "I'm not sure though about the woman. Perhaps I'll tell the good clever woman some day and let her help me, if she can. But I'd warn her it won't be easy."
"Then there's another woman in it!"
He did not answer. He could not let her know the truth, yet he was sure she would come to know it one way or another.
At that moment she leaned over the table and stretched a hand to arrange something. The perfection of her poise, the beauty of her lines, the charm of her face seized Carnac, and, with an impulse, he ran his arm around her waist.
"Junia—Junia!" he said in a voice of rash, warm feeling.
She was like a wild bird caught in its flight. A sudden stillness held her, and then she turned her head towards him, subdued inquiry in her eyes. For a moment only she looked—and then she said:
"Take your arm away, please."