"Very well." And when they had finished she nodded cheerfully. "With a little practice you might become quite useful." "I believe you despise me for a drone." "No, I don't despise you. And I haven't quite decided what you are." He looked up from the paper in his hand. "I hope you will make a decision in my favour," he said, and his voice was vibrant. She sat facing the light, and he saw the slight quiver of her features. "I expect I shall." She had no inner doubts. She found in him something good and rare, something the more valuable because of its aloofness and its difference from herself, and if she could not yet see him as a whole, she was drawn to the parts made visible. She broke the moment's strain by pushing aside her papers and setting her elbows on the table. She took her face in her hands. "Let's talk," she said. And then, "Do you ever laugh?" He smiled instead. "Not often." "I should like to see you helpless with laughter, doing all sorts of undignified things--crying and uncontrolled. Do you think you could?" "I'm sure I couldn't. You'll set that down against me?" "I'm not making a list of your qualities," she said sharply. "But you're honest." "Had you doubted it?" "I don't think we'll talk, after all," she said. He pleased her with the steady look that ended in a smile, and she went home that night in a state of happy restlessness. She felt herself being involved in a liking for him which resulted from his liking for her, but was none the less sincere, and characteristically she chafed while she rejoiced. Love, she found, has more than one means of entry, and though she had always pictured herself seized roughly by the intruder, life was teaching her to mistrust imagination, and she resigned herself easily to this daintier form of worship, for there was a novel pleasure in being enthroned, spreading herself for homage and startling the worshipper with sudden incongruities. For those fourteen days she was richly fed with the delicacies she had foretold, and when Morton went away he left her hungry. Irritation came with the pangs, and the old anger against herself, against him and all the world. Neville offended her with indiscreet remarks, Grace dared to suggest she was not well, and Bessie threatened to give notice. "What for?" Theresa was sitting in her old place on the kitchen fender, and Bessie was wandering, felt-shod, in apparent aimlessness. "Your temper always was a bit awkward, Miss Terry. D'you remember when you had your clean clothes? We'd all try to keep clear of you for an hour or two, and it would pass off, but for this last month--well! I've never known when you were going to flare, and I haven't pleased you once." "That's your fault. You needn't blame me. Oh, Bessie, I am a bad-tempered wretch! Don't take any notice of me. Just be kind!" "It's 'ard sometimes, Miss Terry dear." "I know. I know. But you've got to go on loving me. I can't live unless people like me--and, anyhow, you can't help it!"