"Why not?
Then you could stay here--and I could go on seeing you till the news came.

Let us do that." The swiftness of her change of mood surprised me.
"What is the particular object of your going on seeing me ?" I asked, with a smile.
She turned away and shrugged her shoulders and took up her pensive attitude by the fire.
"I have no other friend," she said.
"There's Dale." "He's not the same." "There's Sir Joshua Oldfield." She shrugged her shoulders.
I lit a cigarette and sat down.

There was a long silence.

In some unaccountable way she had me under her spell again.

I felt a perfectly insane dismay at the prospect of ending this queer intimacy, and I viewed her intrigue with Dale with profound distaste.