In the darkness, beside her, the charm of her seemed to envelop him progressively--steal stealthily through and through him, stimulating his imagination, exciting his curiosity and a swiftly increasing desire to learn more about her. The honesty of her admiration for him flattered him as he never before had been flattered. Such naïve, such ardent adoration quite upset his mental balance, and slightly intoxicated him. Nothing ever had so appealed, so moved this sophisticated young man. And, add the girl’s beauty, and nascent talent to that, the total was too much for him--might have been too much for older and more level heads than Barry Annan’s. “Thursday,” he whispered, as she slowly released her hand from his--freed it with a sort of winning reluctance. “Yes,” she breathed, “at seven.” “And many, many other hours together,” he added fervently. “Oh, I hope so.... Thank you, Mr. Annan.” Sitting in silence there he had a confused idea that never had he encountered a feminine mind so utterly purged of material sentiment. “It behooves me to keep my own brain as clear,” he thought, vaguely,--seeming to realise that it was no longer entirely so. Suddenly the drone of the machine ceased; the lights went on; the screen faded. All around him people stirred, rose, turned to exchange impressions, congratulations. The light sobered Annan. He turned almost apprehensively to look at Eris. Something radical happened to him as he met her grey eyes,--crystal-clear eyes, beautiful, unabashed. “Good-bye,” he said in a voice that sounded odd in his own ears. Once more he took her hand, and the contact stirred him to definite emotion. Had she been experienced she could have seen much to astonish and trouble her girl’s soul in this young man’s face. “Good-bye,” she said with adorable frankness, “--and thank you--always--Mr. Annan.” As he went away toward the corridor where Coltfoot stood talking to Rosalind, he began to realise that something had happened to him. Rosalind, seeing him, crinkled her eyes and wrinkled her fascinating nose: “Did you turn her head, Barry? Is that child to follow Betsy and myself? Everybody noticed you.” He said, annoyed: “She wouldn’t consider that very humorous.” Rosalind’s dark eyes widened lazily: “Did you suppose I meant it, Barry? You’re rather crude for a subtle novelist, aren’t you?” “She wouldn’t understand it,” he repeated, annoyed. “She’s an unusually sensitive girl.” He went on along the corridor to take leave of Frank Donnell. Rosalind looked at Coltfoot, inclined to giggle. “Don’t think it,” said Coltfoot with a shrug. “I don’t know--” Rosalind turned and looked across at Eris. Smull had seated himself beside her in Annan’s chair. Other men gathered around her. Her beauty startled Rosalind. “It would be funny,” she said. “That child has no heart. Neither has Barry Annan.... They’re merely a pair of minds.... It would be funny if they became entangled ... intellectually.” CHAPTER XIV