Her host, lounging, turned to her a face of which one half was in dense shadow: a keen, strongly modelled face with deep-set eyes at once whimsical and thoughtful, and a mouth thin-lipped but generously wide. He rested an elbow on the table and his head on a spare, sinewy hand, thrusting slender fingers up into hair straight, not long, and rather light in colour. "I'm sorry to have to report," he said gently, "that 'The Dancing Deans, Maizie and May,' are on the road. So I'm informed by Madame Duprat, at least. They're not expected back for several weeks.... I hope you aren't greatly disappointed." Her eyes, wide and dark with dismay, told him too plainly that she was. She made no effort to speak, but after an instant of dumb consternation, moved as if to rise. He detained her with a gesture. "Please don't hurry: you needn't, you know. Of course, if you must, I won't detain you: the door is open, your way clear to the street. But what are you going to do about a place to sleep tonight?" She stared in surprise and puzzled resentment. A warm wave of colour temporarily displaced her pallor. "What makes you so sure I've got no place to sleep?" she asked ungraciously. He lifted his shoulders slightly and dropped his hand to the table. "Perhaps I was impertinent," he admitted. "I'm sorry.... But you haven't--have you?" "No, I haven't," she said sharply. "But what's that--" "As you quite reasonably imply, it's nothing to me," he interrupted suavely. "But I'd be sorry to think of you out there--alone--in the rain--when there's no reason why you need be." "No reason!" she echoed, wondering if she had misjudged him after all. Without warning the man tilted the green lamp-shade until a broad, strong glow flooded her face. A spark of indignation kindled in the girl while she endured his brief, impersonal, silent examination. Sheer fatigue alone prevented her from rising and walking out of the room--that, and curiosity. He replaced the shade, and got out of the chair with a swift movement that seemed not at all one of haste. "I see no reason," he announced coolly. "I've got to run along now--I merely dropped in to get a manuscript. I think you'll be quite comfortable here--and there's a good bolt on the door. Of course, it's very unconventional, but I hope you'll be kind enough to overlook that, considering the circumstances. And tomorrow, after a good rest, you can make up your mind whether it would be wiser to stick to your first plan or--go home." He smiled with a vague, disinterested geniality, and added a pleading "Now don't say no!" when he saw that the girl had likewise risen. "How do you know I've left home?" she demanded hotly. "Well"--his smile broadened--"deductive faculty--Sherlock Holmes--Dupin--that sort of tommyrot, you know. But it wasn't such a bad guess--now was it?" "I don't see how you knew," she muttered sulkily. He ran his long fingers once or twice through his hair in a manner of great perplexity.