“Beautiful! Beautiful!” she cried—burying her head in the flowers—and sniffing greedily at the scent. Over the leaves she looked at the man and laughed. “You are a funny little thing,” said he lazily. “Why? Because I love flowers?” “I’d far rather you loved other things,” said the strange man slowly. She broke off a little pink petal and smiled at it. “Let me send you some flowers,” said the strange man. “I’ll send you a roomful if you’d like them.” His voice frightened her slightly. “Oh no, thanks—this one is quite enough for me.” “No, it isn’t”—in a teasing voice. “What a stupid remark!” thought Viola, and looking at him again he did not seem quite so jolly. She noticed that his eyes were set too closely together—and they were too small. Horrible thought, that he should prove stupid. “What do you do all day?” she asked hastily. “Nothing.” “Nothing at all?” “Why should I do anything?” “Oh, don’t imagine for one moment that I condemn such wisdom—only it sounds too good to be true!” “What’s that?”—he craned forward. “What sounds too good to be true?” Yes—there was no denying it—he looked silly. “I suppose the searching after Fräulein Schäfer doesn’t occupy all your days.” “Oh no”—he smiled broadly—“that’s very good! By Jove! no. I drive a good bit—are you keen on horses?” She nodded. “Love them.” “You must come driving with me—I’ve got a fine pair of greys. Will you?” “Pretty I’d look perched behind greys in my one and only hat,” thought she. Aloud: “I’d love to.” Her easy acceptance pleased him. “How about to-morrow?” he suggested. “Suppose you have lunch with me to-morrow and I take you driving.” After all—this was just a game. “Yes, I’m not busy to-morrow,” she said. A little pause—then the strange man patted his leg. “Why don’t you come and sit down?” he said. She pretended not to see and swung on to the table. “Oh, I’m all right here.” “No, you’re not”—again the teasing voice. “Come and sit on my knee.” “Oh no,” said Viola very heartily, suddenly busy with her hair. “Why not?” “I don’t want to.” “Oh, come along”—impatiently. She shook her head from side to side. “I wouldn’t dream of such a thing.” At that he got up and came over to her. “Funny little puss cat!” He put up one hand to touch her hair. “Don’t,” she said—and slipped off the table. “I—I think it’s time you went now.” She was quite frightened now—thinking only: “This man must be got rid of as quickly as possible.” “Oh, but you don’t want me to go?” “Yes, I do—I’m very busy.” “Busy. What does the pussy cat do all day?” “Lots and lots of things!” She wanted to push him out of the room and slam the door on him—idiot—fool—cruel disappointment. “What’s she frowning for?” he asked. “Is she worried about anything?” Suddenly serious: “I say—you know, are you in any financial difficulty? Do you want money? I’ll give it to you if you like!” “Money! Steady on the brake—don’t lose your head!”—so she spoke to herself.