"Why did I write in the middle of the night? Because I thought I would." He spoke masterfully. He didn't mean to stand any of her cheek. "Oh!" she laughed nicely. "_I_ didn't mind. I liked it--awfully. It was just the sort of thing I should have done myself. But you might tell me all about it. I think I deserve that much, don't you?" Thus he told her all about it--how he had arranged everything, got a room, meant to have his name painted on the door, meant to make his parents take their holiday on the north-east coast for a change, so that he could study the site, meant to work like a hundred devils, etc. He saw with satisfaction that the arrogant, wilful creature was impressed. She said: "Now listen to me. You'll win that competition." "I shan't," he said. "But it's worth trying, for the experience--that's what Enwright says." She said: "I don't care a fig what Enwright says. You'll win that competition. I'm always right when I sort of feel--you know." For the moment he believed in the miraculous, inexplicable intuitions of women. "Oh!" she cried, as the invisible orchestra started a new tune. "Do you know that? It's the first time I've heard it in London. It's the _machiche_. It's all over Paris. I think it's the most wonderful tune in the world." Her body swayed; her foot tapped. George listened. Yes, it was a maddening tune. "It is," he agreed eagerly. She cried: "Oh! I do love pleasure! And success! And money! Don't you?" Her eyes had softened; they were liquid with yearning; but there was something frankly sensual in them. This quality, swiftly revealed, attracted George intensely for an instant. Immediately afterwards she asked the time, and said she must go. "I daren't keep Irene waiting," she said. Her eyes now had a hard glitter. In full Regent Street he put the haughty girl into Irene's automobile, which had turned round; he was proud to be seen in the act; he privately enjoyed the glances of common, unsuccessful persons. As he walked away he smiled to himself, to hide from himself his own nervous excitement. She was a handful, she was. Within her life burned and blazed. He remembered Mr. Prince's remark: "You must have made a considerable impression on her," or words to that effect. The startling thought visited him: "I shall marry that woman." Then another thought: "Not if I know it! I don't like her. I do not like her. I don't like her eyes." She had, however, tremendously intensified in him the desire for success. He hurried off to work. The days passed too slowly, and yet they were too short for his task. He could not wait for the fullness of time. His life had become a breathless race. "I shall win. I can't possibly win. The thing's idiotic. I might.... Enwright's rather struck." Yes, it was Mr. Enwright's attitude that inspired him. To have impressed Mr. Enwright--by Jove, it was something! CHAPTER IX COMPETITION I