Accepting both these invitations, Colin lighted a cigarette and took up a restful position on the couch. He felt curiously at home, considering the novelty of his surroundings, but the whole affair had been so unusual that somehow or other this impromptu tea party seemed to constitute a natural and appropriate climax. That it would also turn out to be an extremely entertaining one he had no manner of doubt. Whoever Miss Nancy Seymour might be, she was certainly the most attractive girl he had ever met in his life. Her looks alone were sufficient to arouse anybody's enthusiasm. With her vividly coloured hair and almost forget-me-not blue eyes she possessed that sort of inspiriting beauty which Rossetti in his healthier and happier moments would have revelled in painting. But, delightful as Colin found her appearance, there was something still more fascinating to him in the unaffected simplicity and friendliness of her manner. What he had said to Mark about his knowledge of women was perfectly true. As a medical student he had worked exceptionally hard, and this fact, combined with his devotion to football and boxing, had left him little time to cultivate any of those semi-amorous friendships which seem to be the principal hobby of so many budding physicians. It was, in fact, the first time that he had ever been perfectly at ease in a girl's society, and the sensation was so pleasing that he felt no objection to its indefinite extension. He could hear Nancy moving about behind the curtain, the pop of a gas ring and the chink of cups giving some clue to the nature of her activities. Six or seven minutes must have elapsed, however, before she made her reappearance, this time carrying a tray with all the necessary equipment for tea. She had discarded her hat and coat, and in her simple indoor costume Colin thought that she looked prettier than ever. "Don't get up," she said, as he started to rise to his feet. "I'll bring over that other little table and then we can help ourselves." Suiting the action to the word, she deposited the tray on the end of the sofa, and pulled up a sort of rickety three-legged stool which looked like the final effort of some disillusioned amateur carpenter. "It's all rather primitive," she continued, "but you must pretend not to notice. You see, I've had to furnish the place myself, and I've never yet had enough money to do it properly." Colin looked round with a contented eye. "I don't see what more you want," he observed, "not unless you're naturally luxurious." "I expect that must be it," she replied, pouring out the tea. "Anyhow, I know that directly I can afford it I mean to buy some new curtains and also a nice thick velvety carpet from Harrod's." She smiled. "That won't be for some time though--not unless there's a boom in bad stories." "If it isn't an impertinent question," said Colin, "how long have you been in Chelsea?"