The manner provided the second shock. But Feo returned the pressure of his hand and tried instantly to think of an answer that would be suitable to her new rôle. “I think I must have done so,” she said quietly, returning his smile. “Your holiday has worked wonders, Edmund.” “A miracle, an absolute miracle!” A nearer look proved that his word was the right one. Here was almost the young Fallaray of the tennis courts and the profile that she had set herself impishly to acquire in those old days. Good Heavens, could it be that she _was_ too late, and that another woman had brought about this amazing change? She refused to permit the thought to take root. She told herself that she had had her share of disappointments. He had needed rest and his beloved Chilton, bathed in the most un-English sunlight, had worked its magic. It must be so. Look at this friendliness. That wasn’t consistent with the influence of another woman. And yet, as an expert in love, she recognized the unmistakable look. “I’m only staying the night here,” he said. “I’m off to Chilton again in the morning. So there’s no time to lose. Can you give me ten minutes?” “Of course,” she said. “And as many more as you care to ask for. I’m out of the old game.” She hurried to get that in, astonished at her uncharacteristic womanliness. But he was one-eyed, like a boy. What at any other time would have brought an incredulous exclamation left him now incurious, without surprise. He was driving hard for his own goal. Anything that affected Feo, or any one else, except Lola, didn’t matter. Her revolutionary statement passed almost unheard. He pushed an armchair into place. “Sit down,” he said, “I want to talk to you.” And as she sat down it was with a sudden sense of fatalism. There was something in all this that was predetermined, inevitable. That flame had been set alight in him by love, and nothing else. She felt, sitting there, like that most feeble of all figures, Canute. What was the use in trying to persuade herself that what she dreaded to hear was not going to be said? She was too late. She had let this man go. He walked up and down for a moment, restless and wound up, passing and repassing the white-faced woman who could have told him precisely what he was about to say.