is companion's gaze.
Quite a nice little tete-a-tete he'd had. It gave him a thrill to sit in
intimate exchange of love experiences with an attractive married woman,
even if she was an invalid. He felt a bit of a dog. He would write to
Ada and tell her. Or would he? Did he want Ada to know anything about
this visit to a mysterious house in Macedonia, a house so clandestine
and bizarre he could scarcely convince himself that it was the abode of
virtue? Did he? Ada was a long way off, in beleaguered England. He
suddenly wondered what Ada had to do with this at all. With an ease that
rather disturbed him he told himself that you could never tell what
might happen nowadays. No use worrying about the future. Why, he might
never get home. He dropped the ash from his cigarette into the tray on
the table. Someone was coming with a quick decisive step up the stairs.
He smiled at Mrs. Dainopoulos, not quite sure why she was holding up her
hand. She was thinking "cross him off as caught," and smiling, when the
someone arrived at the door and knocked.

"Why didn't you get married before you left England?" she asked quickly,
and added in louder tone, "Come in!"

In sharp contrast to the rapid movements without, the door opened with
extreme cautiousness, and at first nothing could be seen save the hand
on the knob. Mr. Spokesly had been thrown into some disorder of mind by
that last question. Why hadn't he, anyway? It was something he had never
decided. Why had they not done what thousands had done in England, which
was simply to marry on the spot and sail a week, or perhaps a few days,
later? Why had he not taken the hazards of war? He had more, far more,
than many of those girls and boys at home. It was at this point, facing
for the first time the unconscious evasions of life, that he found
himself facing something else, a girl with a startled and indignant
light in her eyes. He uncrossed his legs and began to rise as Mrs.
Dainopoulos said, "Come in, Evanthia. It is all right."

She came in, letting the door swing to as she moved with a long
rapacious stride towards the sofa. It was obvious she was preoccupied
with some affair of intense importance to herself. Once Mr. Spokesly's
presence had been indicated she became again absorbed in her errand. Her
amber-coloured eyes, under exquisitely distinct brows, were opaque with
anger, and she held one hand out with the fingers dramatically clenched,
as though about to release a thunder