Her eyes, wide and dark with dismay, told him too plainly that she was. She made no effort to speak, but after an instant of dumb consternation, moved as if to rise.
He detained her with a gesture. "Please don't hurry: you needn't, you know. Of course, if you must, I won't detain you: the door is open, your way clear to the street. But what are you going to do about a place to sleep tonight?"
She stared in surprise and puzzled resentment. A warm wave of colour temporarily displaced her pallor.
"What makes you so sure I've got no place to sleep?" she asked ungraciously.
He lifted his shoulders slightly and dropped his hand to the table.
"Perhaps I was impertinent," he admitted. "I'm sorry.... But you haven't—have you?"
"No, I haven't," she said sharply. "But what's that—"
"As you quite reasonably imply, it's nothing to me," he interrupted suavely. "But I'd be sorry to think of you out there—alone—in the rain—when there's no reason why you need be."
"No reason!" she echoed, wondering if she had misjudged him after all.
Without warning the man tilted the green lamp-shade until a broad, strong glow flooded her face. A spark of indignation kindled in the girl while she endured his brief, impersonal, silent examination. Sheer fatigue alone prevented her from rising and walking out of the room—that, and curiosity.