The two girls followed their host to his room which was hung with rose du Barri draperies prodigally braided with gold. "What a glorious room," cried Jenny. "You think so?" asked its owner. "Rather." The evening passed away without any development of the situation. The girls looked at books and pictures according to the custom of first visits, and drank Green Chartreuse after the supper which they had helped to lay. They also smoked many fat Egyptian cigarettes during an evening of heavy silences, broken by the crunch of subsiding coal and occasional cries that floated in from neighboring slums across the stillness of a wet Sunday night. As Jenny paused on the step of the taxi that was to drive them home, Jack Danby held her hand very tightly. "You'll come again?" he asked. "Of course." After this first visit Jenny and Irene spent almost every afternoon at the flat in Greycoat Gardens. Jenny liked the sensation of Jack Danby brushing against her, of the sudden twitches he would give her hands, nor did she resent an unexpected kiss with which he once burnt her neck as she leaned over the table looking at a portfolio of Lancret's engravings. Arthur Danby went back to Paris in advance of his brother, and Jenny fell into the habit of visiting the flat alone. Jack still never startled her with sudden importunities, never suggested the existence of another point of view beside her own. He seemed perfectly content to watch her enjoyment of his luxury and heavy comfort. One Sunday afternoon in the middle of February--St. Valentine's Eve, to be precise--when the snowdrops drift in myriads across the London parks, Jenny went to pay her farewell visit. Jack Danby was leaving England on the next day to rejoin his brother in Paris. Before she came away from Stacpole Terrace, Jenny had arranged for Irene to pick her up in the course of the evening, so that they could go back together. For some reason she was very particular in exacting a strict promise from Irene not to fail her. "What a fuss about nothing," grumbled her friend. "Oh, well, Ireen, I don't like coming back alone on a Sunday night. I hate Sunday, and you know it."