"I am so glad you came," she said in a low voice, but one in which it was impossible to mistake the pleasure. "I wanted you to know that. A friend of yours is here—but he won’t stay long," she added softly, with that gentle appeal in her voice against which he knew no defense. "You’ll stay—I want you to." "Who is it?" he asked. "Mr. Lorraine." And as she saw the instant stiffening that went through him, she said quickly, with that subtle, merciless flattery of which only women have the command, "Shall I send him away—if you wish?" "No." The two men greeted each other boisterously, but underneath their heartiness was a sudden sense of invaded territory. "Is he interested?" thought Lorraine, with an uneasy glance. "And why did she go out into the hall?" "What’s his right here? Was he here to lunch, I wonder?" thought Beecher, and for the first time he felt something hot surging inside of himself. Each with an extra show of cordiality began to talk, addressing their remarks to the other. Only Lorraine, whose tenancy was thus threatened, continued to prolong his stay, anxiously watching the effect on the woman. At the end of half an hour, he no longer doubted, she was only waiting for him to go, uneasy and resentful at his delay. He rose, heavy of heart, and shook hands with Beecher, whom he would have liked to throttle, and nodding to Miss Charters, went toward the hall, hoping that she would follow him. But women in love match the wordless surrender and tenderness they show to the man to whom they yield with an equal cruelty toward those whose misfortune is to have loved them. She did not move, waiting impatiently until she heard the tardy click of the door. Then she went to him directly, standing quite close, looking up at him like a penitent schoolgirl. "I thought he’d never go," she said impatiently, and then with an uneasy, searching look in her eyes, she said contritely: "Do you think I am very terrible?" He smiled and shook his head, but without profiting by the opportunity her attitude invited. "You were engaged to Charlie once, weren’t you?" he said, trying to give the question an accent of natural curiosity. "No, never." "Almost?" She shook her head impatiently at the introduction of this topic. "People said so." She shrugged her shoulders. "But he is in love with you," he said positively. What she did not like was the quiet, inconsequential way he spoke, for in her own mood she did not detect the jealousy underneath. "Please don’t let us talk of Mr. Lorraine," she said quickly. "I have never been engaged to Mr. Lorraine and never could; first, because I don’t intend to marry, and, second, because if I did, Mr. Lorraine could never appeal to me." She broke off and going to the telephone said to him over her shoulder: "You’re not in a hurry?" "No." "Good—then we need not be interrupted."