He felt, somehow or other, immeasurably grateful to her, flattered by her confidence, curiously exalted by her hesitating words.

Speech, however, he found an impossibility.
"So you see," she concluded, sitting up and speaking once more in her conversational manner, "I am not a bit modern really, am I?
I am just as primitive as I can be, longing for the things all women long for and unashamed to confess my longing to any one who has the gift of understanding, any one who walks with his eyes turned towards the clouds." Their taxicab stopped outside the building in which her little flat was situated.

She handed him the door key.

"Please turn this for me," she begged.

"I am at home every afternoon between five and seven.