Now she could not tell whether he had deliberately and skillfully taken his conge to follow Sylvia, or whether, in his quest for his cigarettes, chance might meddle, as usual.

Even if he returned, she could not know with certainty how much of a part hazard had played on the landing above, where she already heard the distant sounds of Sylvia's voice mingling with Siward's, then a light footfall or two, and silence.
He had greeted her in his usual careless, happy fashion, just as she had reached her chamber door; and she turned at the sound of his voice, confused, unsmiling, a little pale.
"Is it headache, or are you too in quest of cigarettes ?" he asked, as he stopped in passing her where she stood, one slender hand on the knob of her door.
"I don't smoke, you know," she said, looking up at him with a cool little laugh.

"It isn't headache either.

I was--boring myself, Mr.
Siward." "Is there any virtue in me as a remedy ?" "Oh, I have no doubt you have lots of virtues.

...