She told a servant that she was "not at home" to any one, and Henry, wondering why she had done so, felt vaguely flattered and as vaguely nervous. Her beauty filled him with desire and apprehension and left him half eager, half afraid to be alone with her. He understood Gilbert's fear that if he yielded to Cecily, she would destroy him. There was something in this woman that overpowered the senses, that made a man as will-less as a log, and left him in the end, spent, exhausted, incapable. He saw the danger that had frightened Gilbert, but he could not make up his mind to run away from it. There was something so exquisitely sensual in her look as she lay on the couch, looking at him and chattering in the Lensley style, that he felt inclined to yield himself to her, even if in yielding he should lose everything. "Of course," he said to himself, "this is all imagination. She doesn't want me at all ... she wants Gilbert!" She asked for another cigarette, and he took one and placed it in her lips and lit it for her, and again his fingers touched hers, and again he trembled with unaccountable emotion. As he bent over her, holding the match to the cigarette, he felt the blood rushing to his head and for a moment or two his eyes were blurred and he could not see clearly. Then his eyes cleared and he saw that she was looking steadily at him, and he knew that she understood what was passing in his mind. He dropped the match on to the ash-tray and bent a little nearer to her. He would take her in his arms, he said to himself, and hold her tightly to him.... "Won't you sit down," she said, pointing to his chair. He straightened himself, but did not move away. His eyes were still intent on hers, as if he could not avoid her gaze, and for a while neither of them spoke or moved. Then she smiled at him. "You're a funny boy," she said. "Won't you sit down!" and again she pointed to the chair. His answer was so low that he could hardly hear himself speak, and at first he thought she had not heard him. "I'd better go," he said. "Not yet," she answered. "You needn't go yet!" "I'd better...." She put out her hand and made him sit down. "There's no hurry," she said. He leant back in his chair, resting his elbows on the arms of it and folding his fingers under his chin. "You look frightened," she said. "I am," he answered. "Of me?" He nodded his head, and she laughed. "How absurd!" she said. "I'm not a bit terrifying...." He was not trembling now. He felt quite calm, as if he had resigned himself to what must be. "No, I ... I know you're not," he said, "only ..." "Only what?" "I don't know!" She put her cigarette down and turned slightly towards him. "Funny boy!" she said. "Funny Irish boy!" He smiled foolishly at her, but did not answer. He knew that if he spoke at all, he would say wild things that could not be withdrawn or explained away.