Won't you tell me what I have done ?" As she put the question, she laid one gloved hand upon the table; and though the Prophet's eyes were fixed upon the Scitsym, he was conscious in every fibre of the appeal the unstudied gesture made--as he was poignantly conscious of the clear eyes, the soft dark hair, the questioning upturned face.
For an interminable time the silence remained unbroken; at last, with a little sound of fresh distress, Enid bent still nearer.
"Oh, I understand!" she exclaimed.

"I understand! You think I have taken advantage of your goodness.

You think I have imagined that, because you are kind and patient and tolerant, I might look upon you as--as a man." As she said the word she paused, frightened by her own timidity.
But as suddenly the Prophet wheeled round and laid his fingers over hers.

The pressure of his hand was like steel, the expression of his face was altered and disturbed.
"If you only knew--" he said, sharply--"if you only knew how I have longed to hear you say just that one word _man_!" He paused almost triumphantly, his eyes searching her frightened face, his fingers gripping hers.
For an instant she sat petrified and fascinated; then a faint sound of alarm escaped her, and she turned towards the door.
Without the formality of the announcing gong, two men had entered the room, and stood silent spectators of the tableau.

One was Devereaux, the Precursor; the other was Horatio Bale-Corphew.
For one embarrassed moment all four looked at each other; then the Precursor hastened to save the situation.