"You wanted to talk to me—talk." He smiled a quick flashing smile. Judith drew away from him and he followed. "Now you've got me here, can't you shake hands with me?"
"Neil, be careful."
"I'm doing the best I can," he said in a choked voice. "You shouldn't get me here. You shouldn't get me to a house by night that's not open to me by day."
"But it is. Only they'll never let me see you alone, and I like to. I like to talk to you. It makes me feel—comfortable. Isn't it comfortable here?" Judith paused, overcome by an unaccountable difficulty with her breathing, but mastered it. "Comfortable and cozy? Aren't you glad you came in?"
"Comfortable!" He laughed, came two steps nearer to her, and stopped stiffly. Judith, disposing her soft, silky draperies daintily, observed him in silence from a big chair which she had taken possession of rather abruptly, faintly smiling.
"Don't look at me like that," he commanded.
"Like what? Sit down—over there, Neil. Isn't it cozy? Willard's got a new song that——"
"Willard!"
"Don't be cross. We—haven't very much time."
"Judith, where is this getting us? We're not children. Won't you talk straight to me? You ought to leave me alone, or talk straight."