As his door was only a few feet away from hers, she waited in the hall and looked curiously into his room after he had lighted up. She noticed that the place was filled with gymnastic paraphernalia—clubs, dumb-bells, weights, and a boxing bag apparatus. Meanwhile, he rummaged through the articles on the mantelpiece until he discovered the missing money tucked snugly away in an empty match-box. "I don’t know how it got there," he said, ruefully. "I guess I meant to put it underneath, but slipped it into the box absent-mindedly." She smiled. "You have a complete pocket gymnasium," she commented. "Yes, I’m pretty well rigged out," he replied, delighted at her show of interest. He was very much impressed with her appearance, which mirrored a world socially more elevated and more beautiful than his own. He racked his wits for an excuse to detain her. "Is this how you keep in trim?" asked Cornelia, indicating the apparatus. "I—I’m a professional wrestler and a physical culture expert," he went on, fumbling in his pocket for a visiting card. "Ah, I see. It’s business, not pleasure." She did not look at the card, but flashed eloquent glances at his figure. "That’s it," he replied, emboldened by her mute flattery. "Will you come in and let me show you around? Young ladies aren’t always interested in these things." "Another time. It’s too late now." Her phrases emerged so curtly and her relapse into frigid conventionality was so abrupt that the young man stammered a hurt good night, and rather hastily closed his door. Cornelia gained her sexual gratification in diluted but frequent doses. Without being a deliberate flirt like Mazie, she instinctively tried out the subtler weapons of sex on every man she liked and, since her appearance was both striking and agreeable and her likings fairly far flung, men often responded to her charm with a crudeness that gave her great offence. She seemed unconscious of the incitement in her manner; when, on one occasion, Robert pointed it out, she denied the charge with mingled passion and surprise. And it was quite true that she took no pleasure in arousing a man’s desire. All her pleasure was derived from baffling it. Curiously enough, an enamored man was an object which aroused in her only a feeling of distaste. And the presence of this feeling satisfied her that she was the innocent victim of his condition rather than the responsible author.