Craning his neck, he leered into her eyes. As they swung round, Susan was able to see that the doorway was empty. Kilmuir had gone. “Now then I will teach you ’ow. You mus’ turn your ’ead sweet-bit, and our leaps shall brush themselves. It will, of gourse, be an agsiden’. I shall not ’af know that you were to move. An’ no one shall know neither . . . But we shall know an’ be ’appy—my leedle——” “Let’s stop,” said Susan, suiting the action to the word. Labotte wagged his head. “I know a leedle salon,” he chanted rhythmically, “’alf-way on the stairs.” As the girl turned, he laid hands upon her. It was his way. He always smeared his prey. The suggestion of an embrace appealed to him. For one thing, it looked so well. It argued a certain proprietorship—a seignory, such as other men did not enjoy; it suggested the existence of a familiarity which, short of a scene, his victim could seldom rebut: it enhanced his reputation as an irresistible dog. For another, he found it agreeable. He slid an arm about her shoulders and squeezed her hand, as though by way of shepherding her in the required direction. “D’you mind not touching me?” said Susan. Labotte started, and the greasy hands fell away. Then he rapped his knuckles. “Ah, then,” he simpered, “you mus’ be more gareful, block-face. You mus’ nod go to frighden your leedle ’orse.” Susan passed out of a door and sat down in the hall. This was empty, but it was not remote. Labotte stared. “Bud,” he blurted, “we ’af arrange to go——” “I sit here,” said Susan. Labotte sat down by her side and took out a cigarette. His grin had faded into a supercilious and rather unpleasant regard which sat uneasily upon his insignificant face. “And,” continued Miss Crail, “I’ld be glad if you wouldn’t refer to me as ‘your little horse.’ It suggests an intimacy which does not exist between us; it’s vulgar and it’s bad form. I don’t suppose that any of those reasons will appeal to you, but you can take my word for it they’re pretty sound.” Labotte regarded her open-mouthed. After a moment the blood began to pour into his face. Very soon this was completely suffused and glistening. The scarlet of his ears suggested that they were on fire. As for his eyes, these had become small slits of grey-green flame. He shut his mouth with a snap. “What?” he breathed through his teeth. “I—_I_ am vulgar?” “Intensely vulgar,” said Susan, producing a cigarette. “Get me a match.” For a second Labotte hesitated. Then he rose, crossed to a table and returned with a box of matches. “Thank you,” said Miss Crail. “Now you can go.” Labotte drew himself up. “I ’af nod the use to be commanded,” he said. “I am a gennelman, an’——” “Don’t be silly,” said Susan. “Because it suited me to dance with you, that doesn’t make you a gentleman. And now, if you take my advice, you’ll run away and play—while there is time. Otherwise, I may be tempted to put you where you belong.” The macaroni appeared to have lost the power of speech.