ng colour?"

She laughed. "Yes," she answered. "It ought to be grey to match your
suit. And so ought your socks."

"I didn't know it was going to be such a swell affair, or I shouldn't
have come," he said.

She touched his hand lightly.

"I want you to get used to it," she said. "It's part of your work. Put
your brain into it, and don't be afraid."

"I'll try," he said.

He was sitting on the front seat, facing her. "I'm glad I went," he said
with sudden vehemence. "I loved watching you, moving about among all
those people. I never knew before how beautiful you are."

Something in his eyes sent a slight thrill of fear through her. It was
not an unpleasant sensation--rather exhilarating. She watched the
passing street till she felt that his eyes were no longer devouring her.

"You're not offended?" he asked. "At my thinking you beautiful?" he
added, in case she hadn't understood.

She laughed. Her confidence had returned to her. "It doesn't generally
offend a woman," she answered.

He seemed relieved. "That's what's so wonderful about you," he said.
"I've met plenty of clever, brilliant women, but one could forget that
they were women. You're everything."

He pleaded, standing below her on the steps of the hotel, that she would
dine with him. But she shook her head. She had her packing to do. She
could have managed it; but something prudent and absurd had suddenly got
hold of her; and he went away with much the same look in his eyes that
comes to a dog when he finds that his master cannot be persuaded into an
excursion.

She went up to her room. There really was not much to do. She could
quite well finish her packing in the morning. She sat down at the desk
and set to work to arrange her papers. It was a warm spring evening, and
the window was open. A crowd of noisy sparrows seemed to be delighted
about something. From somewhere, unseen, a blackbird was singing. She
read over her report for Mrs. Denton. The blackbird seemed never to have
heard of war. He sang as if the whole world were a garden of languor and
love. Joan looked at her watch. The first gong would sound in a few
minutes. She pictured the dreary, silent dining-room with its few
scattered occupants, and her heart sank at the prospect. To her relief
came remembrance of a cheerful but entirely respectable restaurant near
to the Louvre to which she had been taken a few nights before. She had
noticed quite a number o