"But of course I remember you," Matthias interrupted with a constrained smile. "But I wasn't—ah—expecting you—not exactly—you understand."
"Oh, yes," Joan replied in subdued and dubious accents—"I understand."
She waited a moment, watching narrowly under cover of assumed embarrassment, the signs of genuine astonishment which Matthias felt too keenly to think of concealing. Then she added an uneasy:
"Of course...."
"Of course!" Matthias echoed witlessly. "You wanted to see me about something," he iterated, wandering. With an effort he pulled himself together. "Won't you sit down—ah—Joan?"
"Thank you," said the girl. "But I'm afraid I'm in the way," she amended, dropping back into the old, worn, easy-chair.
"Oh, no—I—"
The insincerity of his disclaimer was manifest in an apologetic glance toward the manuscript and a hasty thrust of fingers up through his hair. Joan caught him up quickly.
"Oh, but I know I am, so I shan't stay," she said, settling herself comfortably. "I only ask a minute or two of your time. You don't mind?"
"Mind? Why, I—certainly not."