Her hair swept his cheek as she wrestled with refractory stalks, and the dark eyes grew and; fastened on him again.
The hansom sped on. The quietude was left behind, and the lights of the West End twinkled around them. There was the rattle of traffic. Kent was laughing at something she had said, and he heard himself with surprise—or was it; himself? The cab rolled to a standstill, and they got out. The lift bore them to her landing. The servant opened the door.
"Good-night," he said; "I won't come in."
"Oh, come in; it's not ten o'clock. You'll have a brandy-and-soda before you go?"
She entered without waiting for his reply, and he followed her reluctantly. Only the lamp had been lighted, and the room was full of crimson shadow. He stood watching her unpin her hat before the mirror, and pull at her gloves.
"I don't think I'll stop," he said again, "really! I've something to do."
"If I can't persuade you——" she answered listlessly.
Her gaiety had deserted her, and there was weariness in her attitude as she drooped by the mantelshelf; her air, her movements, had a languor now. She put out her bare hand slowly, and Kent's clung to it.
He stood holding her hand in a pause....
"I can't leave you," said Kent.