“This is my little salon,” he said. “May I—”
“No, thank you. I’ll keep on my coat. I must go home in a minute. I shall have a good deal to do. Really I oughtn’t to be here at all. If anyone—after such news—”
She looked at Arabian. She had just had news of the death of her father, and she had come out to tea with this man. Was she crazy?
“I don’t know why I came!” she said bluntly, angrily almost.
“Do please sit down,” he said, pushing forward a large arm-chair. “If these curtains were not drawn we could see the river Thames from here. It is a fine view.”
He bent down and poked the fire, then stood beside it, looking down at her as she sat in the chair.
She glanced round the room. It was well furnished and contained two or three good pieces, but there was nothing in it which showed personality, a thoughtful guiding mind and taste; there was nothing in it even which marked it definitely as the home of a woman rather than a man, or vice versa.
“I rent it furnished,” said Arabian, evidently guessing her thought.
“Are you here for long?”
“I do not quite know. That depends.”