"What was the matter just now--when, though you were so fortunately occupied, you yet seemed to call me to the rescue?" "Oh," he laughed, "I was only occupied in being frightened!" "But at what?" "Well, at a sort of sense that she wanted to make love to me." I reflected. "Mrs. Server? Does Mrs. Server make love?" "It seemed to me," my friend replied, "that she began on it to _you_ as soon as she got hold of you. Weren't you aware?" I debated afresh; I didn't know that I had been. "Not to the point of terror. She's so gentle and so appealing. Even if she took one in hand with violence, moreover," I added, "I don't see why terror--given so charming a person--should be the result. It's flattering." "Ah, you're brave," said Obert. "I didn't know you were ever timid. How can you be, in your profession? Doesn't it come back to me, for that matter, that--only the other year--you painted her?" "Yes, I faced her to that extent. But she's different now." I scarcely made it out. "In what way different? She's as charming as ever." As if even for his own satisfaction my friend seemed to think a little. "Well, her affections were not then, I imagine, at her disposal. I judge that that's what it must have been. They were fixed--with intensity; and it made the difference with _me_. Her imagination had, for the time, rested its wing. At present it's ready for flight--it seeks a fresh perch. It's trying. Take care." "Oh, I don't flatter myself," I laughed, "that I've only to hold out my hand! At any rate," I went on, "_I_ sha'n't call for help." He seemed to think again. "I don't know. You'll see." "If I do I shall see a great deal more than I now suspect." He wanted to get off to dress, but I still held him. "Isn't she wonderfully lovely?" "Oh!" he simply exclaimed. "Isn't she as lovely as she seems?" But he had already broken away. "What has that to do with it?" "What has anything, then?" "She's too beastly unhappy." "But isn't that just one's advantage?" "No. It's uncanny." And he escaped.