She smiled constrainedly, but said nothing. Her eyes wandered about the mean, shabby room, with the dusty yellowish carpet on the floor, the narrow painted bureau covered with a torn towel, the iron bed with its one flat pillow, his smart little trunk, so out of place there. So intent was she that he fancied she was about to make some comment on the poverty of which he was ashamed. But she only said: “I do wish I had a cup of tea! I’ve such a headache!” “We can go out----” “Oh, couldn’t we have it here? Isn’t that a spirit lamp?” “Yes,” he answered, reluctantly, “but I’ve no milk or sugar----” “I’m sure you can get them very near here.” He could think of no polite reason for refusing, so he went out to buy what she told him, slipping in and out of the front door, in mortal terror lest the landlady should catch him and tell him ladies weren’t allowed in the gentlemen’s rooms. Why did Minnie do such an extraordinary, unnecessary thing? When he got back, the spirit lamp was lighted and the little kettle beginning to hiss, while Minnie sat watching it. She looked very much at home. She had taken off her jacket and hat, and he fancied that her hair was better dressed than usual, that she was wearing a rather gayer blouse, in short, that she was “dressed up.” “Now then!” she said, cheerfully, “aren’t we cozy?” “Rather!” he answered, gallantly, and might have added, “_Too_ cozy!” He was like the innocent young heroine in a drama; he had a dim perception of something evil, he felt that he ought not to be there alone with Minnie. The tea seemed to do her good, for she revived, and became quite animated, talked to him about Frances, their childhood, their schooldays, anything and everything. The friendly, disarming air, the classic second step of the seducer! He was amused by her chatter, but he didn’t lose his feeling of uneasiness. Because, in spite of her immeasurably respectable appearance---- The clock struck seven and he felt obliged to protest. “I say!” he cried, in pretended surprise, “seven o’clock! Shan’t we go out and--take a walk--have a bit of supper somewhere?” “Oh, no,” said Minnie, “I’ll have to be going.” She rose and picked up her hat. But did not put it on; at last put it down again and opened her worn little pocketbook. “Here is the money, Mr. Naylor,” she said, and held out a bill to him. Then, as he took it, suddenly she flung herself into the chair and buried her face in her hands. “Oh!” she sobbed, “Oh! It’s _too_ hard!” He was frightened and disconcerted. He knew women were liable to such curious attacks, but he had never before witnessed one. It made him so sorry for her weakness and inferiority. Poor little thing! Poor emotional, unbalanced Woman! “I say!” he said, “What is it? Please don’t cry!” The huddled little figure didn’t reply, kept on weeping in a muffled sort of way. “Please tell me!” he entreated. He went so far as to pat her shoulder, while he cast about for something to say or to do.