There was no counterfeit about the start Mr. Strong gave. So swiftly did he pluck his feet away from the desk that twenty sheets of paper planed down to the floor, bringing the cup of tea with them in their fall. But Mr. Strong paid no attention to the breakage and mess. He was on his feet, looking at Amory. He looked, but he had never a word to say. And she stood looking at him--charming in her glaucous blue, the glint of rich red that peeped from under the new white hat, and her slightly frightened smile. "Haven't you any?" she said archly. At that Mr. Strong found his tongue. "Excuse me just a moment," he muttered, striding past her and picking up something from his desk as he went. "Sit down, won't you?" Then he opened the door by which Amory had entered, did something behind it, and returned, closing the door again. "Only so that we shan't be disturbed," he said. "They go into the other office when they see the notice.--I wasn't expecting you." Nor did he, Amory thought, show any great joy at her appearance. On the contrary, he had fixed a look very like a glare on her. Then he walked to the hearth. A big fire burned there behind a wire guard, and within the iron kerb stood the kettle he had boiled to make tea. He put his elbows on the mantelpiece and turned his back to her. Again it was Mr. Brimby's sorrowing Oxford attitude. Amory had moved towards his swivel chair and had sat down. Her heart beat a little agitatedly. He remembered!... He spoke without any beating about the bush.--"Ought you to have done this?" he said over his shoulder. She fiddled with her gloves.--"To have done what?" she asked nervously. "To have come here," came in muffled tones back. It was evident that he was having to hold himself in. Then suddenly he wheeled round. This time there was no doubt about it--it was a glare, and a resolute one. But he had not been able to think of any new line. It was the one he had used before. He made it a little more menacing, that was all. "I'm only flesh and blood--," he said quickly, his hands ever so slightly clenching and unclenching and his throat apparently swallowing something. Her heart was beating quickly enough now.--"But--but--," she stammered,--"if you only mean my coming here--I've been here lots of times before----" He wasted few words on that. "Not since----," he rapped out. He was surveying her sternly now. "But--but--," she faltered again, "--it's only me, Edgar--I _am_ connected with the paper, you know--that is to say my husband is----" "That's true," he groaned. "And--and--I should have come before--I've been intending to come--but I've been so busy----"