He talked to her about his work a little, then slid easily into the allied topics of music and books.
Finally he took her into an adjoining room, and showed her a small, beloved collection of coloured prints which he had gathered together, recounting various amusing little incidents which had attended the acquisition of this or that one among them with much gusto and a certain quaint humour that she was beginning to recognise as characteristic.
Magda, to whom the study of old prints was by no means an unknown territory, was thoroughly entertained.

She found herself enthusing, discussing, arguing points, in a happy spirit of _camaraderie_ with her host which, half an hour earlier, she would have believed impossible.
The end came abruptly.

Quarrington chanced to glance out of the window where the street lamps were now glimmering serenely through a clear dusk.

The fog had lifted.
"Perhaps it's just as well," he said shortly.

"I was beginning--" He checked himself and glanced at her with a sudden stormy light in his eyes.
"Beginning--what ?" she asked a little breathlessly.