She stood up. He took her hand. His was warm and strong, and a great deal of her personality seemed to her to be in its clasp--too much indeed. His body fascinated hers, made her realize in a startling way that the coldness of which some men had complained had either been overcome by something that could burn and be consumed, or perhaps had never existed. “You will not go to America without telling me?” he said. “No, no. Of course not.” “You told me first of your sorrow!” “Why--why did I?” she thought, wondering. “And you did not tell Dick Garstin.” “No.” “And you came here to me.” “No, no! With you!” “To my rooms in spite of your grief. We are friends from to-night.” “To-night . . . but it is afternoon!” He still had her hand in his. She felt, or fancied she felt, a pulse beating in his hand. It gave her a sense of terrible intimacy with him, as if she were close to the very sources of his being. And yet she knew nothing about him. “It gets dark so early now,” he said. Dark! As he said it she thought, “That’s his word! That’s his word!” Everyone has his word, and dark was Arabian’s. “Good-bye!” she said. “I will take you down.” Quietly and very naturally, he let her hand go. And at once she had a sensation of being out in the cold. They went down together in the lift. Just as they left it, and were in the hall, a woman whom Miss Van Tuyn knew slightly, a Mrs. Birchington, an intimate of the Ackroyde and Lady Wrackley set, met them coming from the entrance. “Oh, Miss Van Tuyn!” she said, stopping. She held out her hand, looking from Miss Van Tuyn to Arabian. “How are you?” Her light eyes were searching and inquisitive. She had an evening paper in her hand. “I--I am so grieved,” she added, again looking at Arabian. “Mr. Arabian--Mrs. Birchington!” Miss Van Tuyn felt obliged to say. Mrs. Birchington and Arabian bowed. “Grieved!” said Miss Van Tuyn. “Yes. I have just seen the sad news about your father in the paper.” Miss Van Tuyn realized at once that she was caught, unless she lied. But she did not choose to lie before Arabian. Something--her pride of a free American girl, perhaps--forbade that. And she only said: “Thank you for your sympathy. Good-bye.” “Good-bye!” Mrs. Birchington bowed again to Arabian, swept him with her sharp inquisitive eyes, and stepped into the lift. “She lives here,” he said, “in the apartment opposite to mine.” As Miss Van Tuyn drove away towards Claridge’s she wondered whether Arabian was glad because of that fortuitous meeting.