"No," said John; "I came on other business."
"You are not angry with me?"
"No; why should I be angry?" asked John.
"Because I wired to you," said Elaine. "Let us go upstairs, Bernard. The sitting-room's empty; we can talk there."
She led him up to a little, parlour-like apartment, with a gay carpet, and a circular table in the middle of the room. Here she closed the door and stood with her back to it, looking up into John's face. Her eyes searched his closely. Her splendid beauty, the wistful expression of her face, a certain shy girlishness, all appealed to John's feelings. He found it difficult to sustain the searching gaze lifted to his.
Suddenly Elaine drew in a deep breath.
"Bernard," she whispered, "you are different."
John turned away.
"Yes," he answered, quietly, "I suppose I am a little different."
"Ever since the last time I saw you I have felt it," went on Elaine. "I have thought much of our last meeting," she added.