business conversation. She had been conscious all the while of his half-listless interest in her, of an idle curiosity, which, before it had grown offensive, had become friendly and at times almost boyish in its naïve self-disclosure. And it made her smile to remember how very long it took him to take his leave. [Pg 35] But—a man of that kind—a man of the out-world—with the something in his face that betrays shadows which she had never seen cast—and never would see—he was no boy. For in his face was the faint imprint of that pallid wisdom which warned. Women in his own world might ignore the warning; perhaps it did not menace them. But instinct told her that it might be different outside that world. She nestled into her fire-warmed bath-robe and sat pensively fitting and refitting her bare feet into her slippers. Men were odd; alike and unalike. Since her father's death, she had had to be careful. Wealthy gentlemen, old and young, amateurs of armour, ivories, porcelains, jewels, all clients of her father, had sometimes sent for her too many times on too many pretexts; and sometimes their paternal manner toward her had made her uncomfortable. Desboro was of that same caste. Perhaps he was not like them otherwise. When she had bathed and dressed, she dined alone, not having any invitation for the evening. After dinner she talked on the telephone to her little friend, Cynthia Lessler, whose late father's business had been to set jewels and repair antique watches and clocks. Incidentally, he drank and chased his daughter about with a hatchet until she fled for good one evening, [Pg 36]which afforded him an opportunity to drink himself very comfortably to death in six months. [Pg 36] "Hello, Cynthia!" called Jacqueline, softly. "Hello! Is it you, Jacqueline, dear?" "Yes. Don't you want to come over and eat chocolates and gossip?" "Can't do it. I'm just starting for the hall." "I thought you'd finished rehearsing." "I've got to be on hand all the same. How are you, sweetness, anyway?"
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