“Cis, Cis, Cis, _drop_ it! It’s a danger; it’s your enemy, it’s my enemy! That horrible system will wreck your life! Cis, for my sake, in pity say you’ll come with me on Sunday, and cut out the Mass! Cis, it’s a test, Cis; you _must_ come! Cis, Cis, for my sake?” Rodney spoke quite wildly, crushing her hands in his. Cis looked at him, frightened, and then a great tenderness flooded her face, a look that it had never worn before. “All that isn’t true, Rod; it is sheer nonsense, but one Sunday can’t matter. I’ll go with you, if you care so much to have me,” she said gently. Then as if a new fear came upon her, she added: “Dear old pal of mine!” hiding behind a phrase. CHAPTER VIII CABLE STRANDS That night Cis took the pins out of her hair and let it fall around her, like a screen of molten metal which miraculously could envelop and not sear her. It shone above her white petticoat and over her bare arms and shoulders so resplendent that it was a pity that there was none to see it, though Cis felt no such regret. She did not consciously see herself as she stood before her mirror, letting down her Brünhilde-like tresses; her mind was filled with other thoughts, and she turned from the glass to switch off the electric light the better to follow out these thoughts and their conclusions. She went over to the window and seated herself in a low chair, her right foot boyishly resting on her left knee that she might easily remove its shoe, but having removed it she absent-mindedly let it drop on the floor and stroked her silk-stockinged instep, forgetful that normally one takes off its mate when one shoe has been removed.