“‘I told him once of a quarrel that I had had with Roger. Roger had threatened to leave me, never to see me again. I said nothing. I stood straight up in front of him, looking him in the eyes; then, with a sudden sweep, I tore away from my arms the soft silk of my evening dress, and stood there, my shoulders bare, the white skin stained with the bruises of our love-making. We stood there, we said nothing, but we read in our eyes those things of memory for which there are no words. Then he took a quick step forward, caught me in his arms and kissed away our quarrel. I told Paul that. “There was a man,” I said to him. I flung the words at him as one flings a glove in a challenge. But he didn’t hit back. He said none of the things he might have said. He just took my hand. “Margaret,” he said, “I can’t love you in that way; each man has his own way of loving, and that isn’t mine. But in my own way I love you more than the others have. Do believe that, my dear, I do--I do!”’ “‘What was I to do, Gerald--what was I to say? I was moved. What woman wouldn’t be? I felt a pig, and kissed him, and let him make love to me. That’s the worst of those people--they get under one’s guard; they disarm one; one can’t hurt them; they are too weak; and, oh! Gerald, it’s more than I can stand. It’s hateful to have a coward for a lover: I’d much rather be a strong man’s toy. I keep saying to myself: “Margaret, my girl, you’ve got to make an end of this.” But I can’t. He always gets round me in the end. You can only fight what’s stronger than yourself.’ “She paused, out of breath, flushed, bright-eyed, amazingly attractive. Then, in a sudden, chastened voice, ‘Oh! Gerald, Gerald, why don’t people keep pace with one another in love, why don’t they fall in love at the same time and fall out of love at the same time? Why must it be a race in which everyone is handicapped, and starts at different times and different paces, when it is all a chasing and a being chased, and there is only a few yards of running side by side together?’ “Never before, I think, had she so completely revealed herself to me, or it would, perhaps, be more true to say never before had she revealed that particular facet of her personality. She had become suddenly a woman wistful and self-doubting, frightened of her mortality, saddened by the contrast between the dream and the actuality, by the passage of good things. “I sat watching her, held silent in the spell of her beauty, wondering what next would come, when, from below, came the faint ring of an electric bell, the sound of an opening door, the soft stir of feet on Axminster. “‘Mr Paul Johnson, madam!’ “There was a pause. I saw a look, half terror, half relief, pass across Margaret’s face; then she appeared to pull herself together. ‘Very well, Parker,’ she said, ‘show him up.’ “I rose to go. But she stretched out a hand of admonition.