Thrilling through her, like some warm current that forces its way through cold water, was the consciousness that she was making him seriously consider the benefits of having a woman to live with him, to look after his needs, attend to his comforts, as she pictured herself so well able to do.
After due deliberation, she delivered her opinion.
"I don't think the green would go so badly as you'd think," she said slowly--"I suppose it would be expensive to change.

But red would look better of course." He took his pipe out of his mouth and blew a long scroll of smoke from between his lips as he looked at her.
"In fact," he said at last--"you'd like to make this little room of mine look like hell." It was a brutal thing to have said.

Yet he knew her mind no more than she knew his.

He knew but little of women.

Her knowledge of men was limited to one point of view.