“I was afraid you were not coming after all!” the hypnotist said, in his soft, authoritative voice.
She sank on to a red leather causeuse, and blinked pathetically.
“Don’t speak to me for a moment!” she whispered, throwing back her head and turning her profile only towards him.
“You have a headache?” Dr. André asked sympathetically.
She shook her head, and in that nugatory shake strove to indicate the region of her heart, as the seat of her uneasiness. He had the tact to hold his tongue, and presently she remarked, with a little sigh, “What nice pictures!” as a hint that conversation might begin.
“You don’t care about pictures to-day,” he said, laughing. “You are terribly upset, I can see. Have you had bad news? Have you been fighting with wild beasts at Ephesus?”
She was pleased at his way of putting things. He was alluding to her interviews with lawyers: of the circumstances in which she found herself he was now quite au fait.
“Wild beasts!” she said. “Well, not quite that, but—people are very odd, and never behave exactly as one has a right to expect them to?” Her accent was slightly interrogative.
“Most men will bully a woman if they get a chance!” said he, looking at her keenly.
The butterfly did look a little crushed, a little subdued, as if she had only very recently been brought face to face with some of the crude realities of life of which she was always talking.