Then they moved back into the living-room and the story was related consecutively, by Oliver with fanciful adornments, by Mrs. Severance with a chill self-satisfaction that Oliver noticed with pleasure was like touching icicles to Ted. Ted gave his version--which only amounted to waking up on the fire-escape, trying to shout and succeeding merely in getting mouthfuls of towels--Oliver preened himself a little there--and lying there stoically and getting more and more furious until he was rescued. And while he told it he kept looking everywhere in the room but at Rose. And then Oliver remembered Mr. Piper and looked at his watch--11.04. He rose and gazed at Mrs. Severance. “Well,” he said, and then caught her eye. It was chilly, doubtless, and even by Oliver's unconventional standards he could not think of her as anything but a highly dangerous and disreputable woman--but that eye was alive with an irony and humor that seemed to him for a moment more perfect than those in any person he had ever seen. “_Must_ you go?” she said sweetly. “It's been _such_ an interesting party--so _original_,” she hesitated. “Isn't that the word? Of course,” she shrugged, “I can see that you're simply dying to get away and yet you can hardly complain that I haven't been an entertaining hostess, can you?” “Hardly,” said Oliver meekly, and Ted said nothing--he merely looked down as if his eyes were augers and his only concern in life was screwing them into the floor. “_Must_ you go?” she repeated with merciless mocking. “When it _has_ been fun--and I don't suppose we'll ever see each other again in all our lives? For I can hardly come out to Melgrove now, can I, Oliver? And after you've had a quiet brotherly talk with her, I suppose I'll even have to give up lunching with Louise. And as for Ted--poor Ted--poor Mr. Billett with all his decorations of the Roller Towel, First Class--Mr. Billett must be a child that has been far too well burnt this evening, not, in any imaginable future to dread the fire?” Both flushed, Ted deeper perhaps than Oliver, but neither answered. There really did not seem to be anything for them to say. She moved gently toward the door--the ideal hostess. And as she moved she talked and every word she said was a light little feathered barb that fell on them softly as snowflakes and stuck like tar. “I hope you won't mind if I send you wedding presents--both of you--oh, of course I'll be quite anonymous but it will be such a pleasure--if you'll both of you only marry nice homey girls!” Ted started at this as if he had been walking barefoot and had stepped on a wasp and she caught him instantly.