She turned, and, stepping softly into the salon, seated herself near the immense chimney, in a heavily carved chair, her feet lost in rich furs on the polished floor.

A quaint table at her hand was dotted with rare old books and miniatures, and behind her ticked an ancient clock in a tall mahogany case.
Valmond came forward, hat in hand, and raised to his lips the fingers she gave him.

He did it with the vagueness of one in a dream, she thought, and she neither understood nor relished his uncomplimentary abstraction; so she straightway determined to give him some troublesome moments.
"I have waited to drink my coffee with you," she said, motioning him to a seat; "and you may smoke a cigarette, if you wish." Her eyes wandered over his costume with critical satisfaction.
He waved his hand slightly, declining the permission, and looked at her with an intent seriousness, which took no account of the immediate charm of her presence.
"I'd like to ask you a question," he said, without preamble.

She was amused, interested.

Here was an unusual man, who ignored the conventional preliminary nothings, beating down the grass before the play, as it were.
"I was never good at catechism," she answered.