It was at some nameless hour in the early morning when Julian's vigil came to an end, when the handle of his door was slowly turned, and the door itself pushed open and closed again.

Julian, lying stretched upon his bed, only half prepared for the night, with a dressing gown wrapped around him, continued to breathe heavily, his eyes half-closed, listening intently to the fluttering of light garments, the soft, almost noiseless footfall of light feet.

He heard her shake out his dinner coat, try the pockets, heard the stealthy opening and closing of the drawers in his wardrobe.

Presently the footsteps drew near to his bed.
For a moment he was obliged to set his teeth.

A little waft of peculiar, unanalysable perfume, half-fascinating, half-repellent, came to him with a sense of disturbing familiarity.