Yet they were not uncomfortable. Their room was cosy in the lamplight when the winter had set in and Etienne had made a fire, and the curtains of the windows were drawn to hide the view of snowy roofs; and though the dinner often left them hungry, they could go out and have chocolate and cakes. And even as a foreign Pressman, Kent got some tickets for theatres and concerts. It was livelier than Leamington Road, to say the least of it--more lively for him than for Cynthia, perhaps; but an improvement for her as well, since one or two of the women were companionable. She took walks with them while he was at the office, and practised her French on them in the chilly salon. One afternoon when he was sitting at the office table and Beaufort had gone, the clerk came in to him with a card that bore the name of "Mrs. Deane-Pitt." She was staying in Paris, and the Editor had accepted his suggestion that it might be a good idea to interview a novelist for a change. Kent had sent the proofs to her the day before, but he had never seen her. He told the clerk with some satisfaction to show her in, and he wished he had put on his other jacket, for the author of _Two and a Passion_ was a woman to meet. He felt shabbier still when she entered; she looked to him like an animated fashion-plate reduced to human height. From the hues of her hat to the swirl of her skirt, it was evident that Mrs. Deane-Pitt made money and knew where to spend it. An osprey in the hat was the only touch of vulgarity. Everybody would not have termed her "pretty"; but her eyes and teeth were good, and both flashed when she talked. Her age might have been anything from thirty to thirty-five. "I wanted to see Mr. Beaufort," she said, in a clear, crisp voice; "but I hear he's out." "Yes; he is out," said Kent. "Is it anything _I_ can do?" "Well, I don't like that interview. I dare say it was my own fault, but I object to suffering for my own faults--one has to suffer for so many other people's in this world. It's all about _Two and a Passion_. I wrote _Two and a Passion_ seven years ago--and I didn't get a royalty on it, either! Why not talk about the books I've done since, and say more about the one that's just out? You say, 'Mrs. Deane-Pitt confessed to having recently published another novel,' and then you drop it as if it were a failure. And 'confessed'--why 'confessed'? That's the tone I don't like in the thing. You write about me as if I were an amateur." He felt that Beaufort would not be sorry to have missed her. "May I see the proofs again?" he asked. She gave them to him, and settled herself in her chair. He looked at them pen in hand, and she looked at him. "It can easily be put right, can't it, Mr.----" "'Kent.' Easily--oh yes! Will you tell me something about your new book? I'm ashamed to say I haven't read it yet." "Don't apologise. It's called _Thy Neighbour's Husband_." "Does she bolt with him, or do you end it virtuously?"