Mrs. Tailleur's companion slid back into her seat and sat there smiling to herself and to the incommunicative night.
"I hope," she said presently, "you are not refraining from smoking because of me."
She was very sweet and soft and gentle. But she had not struck him as gentle or soft or sweet when he had seen her with Mrs. Tailleur, and he was not prepared to take that view of her now.
"Thank you," he said. He could not think of anything else to say. He lit his cigarette, and smoked in an innocent abstraction.
A clock indoors struck ten. Miss Keating accounted for her continuance. "It is the only quiet place in the hotel," said she.
He assented, wondering if this were meant for a conversational opening.
"And the night air is so very sweet and pure."
"I'm afraid you find this smoke of mine anything but——"
"If you are so serious about it," said she, "I shall be afraid either to stay out or to go in."
If there were any opening there he missed it. He had turned at the sound of a skirt trailing, and he saw that Mrs. Tailleur had come back into the lounge. He was thoughtful for a moment. Then he got up quietly and went in.