He had been kept waiting longer than usual, and he had somehow the feeling that his visit was ill-timed, when at last she came to him.

He looked up eagerly as she entered the little reception room which he had grown to know so well during the last few weeks, and it struck him for the first time that her welcome was a little forced, her eyes a little weary.
"I haven't," he said apologetically, "the least right to be here." "At least," she murmured, "I may be permitted to remind you that you are here without an invitation." "The worse luck," he said, "that one should be necessary." "This is the one hour of the day," she remarked, sinking into a large easy-chair, "which I devote to repose.

How shall I preserve my fleeting youth if you break in upon it in this ruthless manner ?" "If I could only truthfully say that I was sorry," he answered, "but I can't.

I am here--and I would rather be here than anywhere else in the world." She looked at him with curving lips; and even he, who had watched her often, could not tell whether that curve was of scorn or mirth.
"They told me," she said impressively, "that you were different--a woman-hater, honest, gruff, a little cynical.

Yet those are the speeches of your salad days.