He called at the flat in Knightsbridge on Friday afternoon. In the drawing-room neighbourhood no signs of the impending expedition were visible; invaluable Emily restricted the ravages of packing to the bedrooms and their immediate vicinity. Mrs. Lenoir and Winnie were together, drinking tea. Winnie received him with glad cordiality; in the hostess he felt vaguely a hint of reserve. Mrs. Lenoir, full of her new project, did not see why Bob Purnett should come. She had nothing against him, but he was irrelevant; if her scheme succeeded, he would naturally drop out. She was distantly gracious--the 'grand manner' made its appearance--and, after giving him a cup of tea, went back to her packing, concerning which neither she nor Winnie had said a word--Winnie waiting for a lead from her friend, and her friend not being minded to give it. Winnie had not thought of Bob for weeks, but her heart warmed to him. "He saved my life that first night," was her inward utterance of gratitude. She lounged back on the sofa, and let him talk. But he did not talk idly for long; Bob Purnett took his fences; after all, he had made a thorough inspection of this particular 'teaser' before he mounted his horse. "I've been thinking a lot about you, since I've been away." "Flattered, Mr. Purnett." "Oh, rot. I mean, hoping you weren't unhappy, and so on, you know." Winnie moved her small hands in a gesture expressive of a reasoned endurance. "But, I say, pretty quiet here, isn't it?" "Oh yes, but I don't mind that." "Don't want to sit down here all your life, do you?" "That is rather a large order, isn't it? Have you anything else to suggest?" "You've begun to laugh at a fellow already!" "Already? Good gracious, is there anything tremendous coming?" Bob got up from his chair, moved across the hearthrug, and stood by her. He cleared his throat and lit a cigarette. Winnie began to be curious; she smiled up at him. "I believe you've got something on your mind. Out with it." A sudden idea flashed into her head. "You've not come from Godfrey? Because that's utterly impossible." "What do you take me for? I haven't seen the fellow. I say, what made you think that?" "Oh, I beg your pardon--I'm sorry. But you asked whether I wanted to stay here; that was like suggesting I should go somewhere else, wasn't it? So I thought you might mean that I should go--go back, you know. I'd sooner kill myself." "Oh, please drop it. I wasn't talking about that. I'm off to Monte Carlo on Tuesday." He looked down at his well-polished broad-welted brown boots; he was always admirably shod. Yet he seemed to find no inspiration, or not a very happy one. "Got over it, haven't you?" Winnie shrank into her shell. "I think I prefer your dumb sympathy. How can you expect me to talk about it?" "Put my foot in it?" "Well, yes, rather." Her right hand beat a tattoo on the arm of her chair.