"No. I told you not to be, by way of a general warning—" 

 "Well, it's the same thing—" 

 "Is it? If I tell you not to go out of the room, for instance, and if you sit still—is it the same thing as though you got up and went out?" 

 "Why no—of course not! How absurd!" 

 "Well, the other is absurd too." 

 "I'll never say again that women aren't logical," answered Lawrence, smiling in spite of himself. 

 "No—don't. Have some more tea." 

 "Thanks—I've not finished. It's too hot to drink." 

 Thereupon, his good temper returning, he desisted from self-torture by scalding, and set the cup down. Fanny watched him, but turned her eyes away as he looked up and she met his glance. 

 "I'm so glad you've come," she said quietly.  "I've looked forward to it." 

 Perhaps she was a little the more ready to say so, because she was inwardly conscious of having rather wilfully teased him, but she meant what she said. Lawrence felt his heart beating again in a moment. Resting his elbow on his knees, he clasped his hands and looked down at the pattern of the rug under his feet. She did not realize how easily she could move him, not being by any means a flirt. 

 "It's nothing to the way I've looked forward to it," he answered. 

 She was silent, but he did not raise his head. He could see her face in the carpet. 

 "You know that, don't you?" he asked, in a low voice, after a few moments. 

 Unfortunately for his information on the subject, the butler appeared just then, announcing a visitor. 

 "Mr. Brinsley." 

 It was clear that the manservant had no option in the matter of admitting the newcomer, who was in the room almost before his name was pronounced. 

 "How do you do, Miss Trehearne?" he began as he came swiftly forward. "I'm tremendously glad to find you at home. You're generally out at this hour." 

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