The sound from within, as he jumped to his feet, set her heart beating through the blood, and though she steadied herself, her lips were trembling as he opened and made way for her to enter. She walked straight into the room, did not turn until she heard him close the door; even then, she refused to let her eyes meet his in a direct gaze. This was not easy for, having once shut the door, he stood with his back to it, looking intently at her as if, securing her at last, he would not willingly let her free. "What made you come?" he asked, slowly--"and, having come--then, why on earth did you go away? In the last few minutes before you arrived, I almost began to think that you weren't coming back again." She tried to hide her nervousness by taking off her gloves, but her fingers fumbled at the buttons, and in her awkwardness the seam of one of the fingers slit from top to bottom. She looked at it ruefully; was about to make use of the incident to lessen the tension of the moment when he came across to her. Standing in front of her, he looked down at the broken glove, and her white skin laid bare by the rent stitching. "You'll let me get you a new pair," he said under his breath. In that instant he wanted to give her the world. The proffer of the gloves tried to express the sensation. She looked up into his face with a very small smile--half refusal, half gratitude. When her eyes met his, she realized that her senses were swimming. She was standing on a giddy height, to throw herself from which, became an almost imperative inclination. She felt that she was losing her balance and in another moment would be pitching forward into his arms. She wanted to tell him to kiss her, and words of violent strength, which she had never dreamed of before, shouted suggestions through her--even to her lips. He seemed to be waiting for her to do all this, but made no move to accelerate it; then she swung backwards--turned blindly to the table, laying down her gloves and the little brown-paper parcel. "You're going to take off your hat now," he said; "this room's too hot for accessories." She showed hesitation, was about to refuse, when he made it plain to her that he would not have it otherwise. "I've taken it off before, you know," he said with a smile. "I'm by no means a novice at the art. You can't call me an amateur." "When--?" she began; "oh, of course, I remember." She did not consider her refusal now; she obeyed. He took the hat from her and her feather boa. Then he insisted on the removal of the little short-waisted coat. She demurred again, and again was obedient. He laid them all down on the settle, then sat for a moment and watched her while she poked her fingers into her hair and pulled it lightly out where the hat had rested. "Now you look as if you'd come to see me." he said. "What did I look like before?"