She, too, was conscious of the fact, and her discomfort and dismay increased. She made a little movement as if to go, but he stopped her. "You don't understand, Odette," he said. His voice was soft and melodious, and held the hint of a caress. "Did you read my little book?" he asked suddenly. She nodded. "Yes, I read--some of it," she said, and the colour deepened on her face. He chuckled. "I suppose you thought it rather curious that a man in my position should bother his head to write poetry, eh?" he asked. "Most of it was written before I came into this beastly shop, my dear--before I developed into a tradesman!" She made no reply, and he looked at her curiously. "What did you think of them?" he asked. Her lips were trembling, and again he mistook the symptoms. "I thought they were perfectly horrible," she said in a low voice. "Horrible!" He raised his eyebrows. "How very middle-class you are, Miss Rider!" he scoffed. "Those verses have been acclaimed by some of the best critics in the country as reproducing all the beauties of the old Hellenic poetry." She went to speak, but stopped herself and stood with lips compressed. Thornton Lyne shrugged his shoulders and strode to the other end of his luxuriously equipped office. "Poetry, like cucumbers, is an acquired taste," he said after a while. "You have to be educated up to some kind of literature. I daresay there will come a time when you will be grateful that I have given you an opportunity of meeting beautiful thoughts dressed in beautiful language." She looked up at this. "May I go now, Mr. Lyne?" she asked. "Not yet," he replied coolly. "You said just now you didn't understand what I was talking about. I'll put it plainer this time. You're a very beautiful girl, as you probably know, and you are destined, in all probability, to be the mate of a very average suburban-minded person, who will give you a life tantamount to slavery. That is the life of the middle-class woman, as you probably know. And why would you submit to this bondage? Simply because a person in a black coat and a white collar has mumbled certain passages over you--passages which have neither meaning nor, to an intelligent person, significance. I would not take the trouble of going through such a foolish ceremony, but I would take a great deal of trouble to make you happy." He walked towards her slowly and laid one hand upon her shoulder. Instinctively she shrank back and he laughed. "What do you say?" She swung round on him, her eyes blazing but her voice under control. "I happen to be one of those foolish, suburban-minded people," she said, "who give significance to those mumbled words you were speaking about. Yet I am broad-minded enough to believe that the marriage ceremony would not make you any happier or more unhappy whether it was performed or omitted. But, whether it were marriage or any other kind of union, I should at least require a man." He frowned at her.