"About every interesting sort—men like Captain Dane, writers, travellers, men engaged in unusual professions. And there were a few delightful women present, all in some business or profession. Mlle. Delauny of the Opera was there—so pretty and so unaffected. And there was also that handsome suffragette who looks like Jeanne d' Arc—"
"Nina Grey."
"Yes. And there was a rather strange and fascinating woman—a physician I believe—but I am not sure. Anyway she is associated with the psychical research people, and she asked if she might come to see me—"
He made an impatient movement—quite involuntary—and Hafiz who was timid, sprang from Athalie's lap and retreated, tail waving, and ears flattened for expected blandishments to recall him.
Athalie glanced up at the man beside her with a laugh on her lips, which died there instantly.
"What is the matter, Clive?"
"Nothing," he said.
His sullen face remained in profile, and after a moment she laid her hand lightly, questioningly on his sleeve.
Without turning he said: "I don't know what is the matter with me, so don't ask me. Something seems to be wrong. I am, probably.... And I think I'll go home, now."