He walked through the misty September night to his rooms. The colouring was green and white, with softly shaded electric lights, an alcove bedstead, which was a miracle of daintiness, white furniture, and a long low dressing-table littered all over with a multitude of daintily fashioned toilet appliances. “I wonder what he takes me for?” When presently she got down from the stile a certain note of internal conflict, a touch of doubt, had gone from her warm-tinted face. “You are making your dress?” “Such as it is. “Hold on. She hesitated in answering the door, her violin still crooked underneath her chin.
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