wn, and he
wouldn't have got up by himself--_I_ warrant you--"

"What did she say?" Christine interrupted, not comprehending the
technical idiom and not interested in it.

"I dunno; but he laughed--anyhow he smiled."

Christine turned on the light, and then went quickly to the window to
draw the curtains.

"Take off your overcoat," she commanded him kindly.

He obeyed, blinking. She sat down on the sofa and, raising her arms,
drew the pins from her hat and put it on the table. She motioned him
to sit down too, and left him a narrow space between herself and the
arm of the sofa, so that they were very close together. Then, with
puckered brow, she examined him.

"I'd better tell you," he said. "It does me good to confess to you,
you beautiful thing. I had a bottle of whisky upstairs in my room at
the Grosvenor. Night before last, when I arrived there, I couldn't get
to sleep in the bed. Hadn't been used to a bed for so long, you know.
I had to turn out and roll myself up in a blanket on the floor. And
last night I spent drinking by myself. Yes, by myself. Somehow, I
don't mind telling _you_. This morning I must have been worse than I
thought I was--"

He stopped and put his hand on her shoulder.

"There are tears in your eyes, little thing. Let me kiss your eyes....
No! I'll respect you. I worship you. You're the nicest little woman I
ever saw, and I'm a brute. But let me kiss your eyes."

She held her face seriously, even frowning somewhat. And he kissed
her eyes gently, one after the other, and she smelt his contaminated
breath.

He was a spare man, with a rather thin, ingenuous, mysterious,
romantic, appealing face. It was true that her eyes had moistened. She
was touched by his look and his tone as he told her that he had been
obliged to lie on the floor of his bedroom in order to sleep. There
seemed to be an infinite pathos in that trifle. He was one of the
fighters. He had fought. He was come from the horrors of the battle. A
man of power. He had killed. And he was probably ten or a dozen years
her senior. Nevertheless, she felt herself to be older than he was,
wiser, more experienced. She almost wanted to nurse him. And for her
he was, too, the protected of the very clement Virgin. Inquiries from
Marthe showed that he must have entered the flat at the moment when
she was kneeling at the altar and when the Lady of VII Dolours had
miraculously granted to her pardon and peace. He was part of the
miracle.