He smiled back at her, readily falling in with her altered mood.  She seemed to have talked the ill-humour out of her blood, and during the service of the meal she told him of the comfort of her work, the charm of the other girl in the room, with whom she was already discussing a plan to share an apartment.  When she came to speak, however remotely, of Miss Dalstan, her voice seemed instinctively to soften.  Philip found himself wondering what had passed between the two women in those few moments when Elizabeth had left him and gone back to Martha’s room.  By some strange miracle, the strong, sweet, understanding woman had simply taken possession of the friendless child.  The thought of her sat now in Martha’s heart, an obsession, almost a worship.  Perhaps that was why the sense of companionship between the two, notwithstanding certain obvious disparities, seemed to grow stronger every moment.

They drank their coffee and smoked cigarettes afterwards in lazy fashion.  Suddenly Martha sprang up.

“Say, I came here to work!” she exclaimed.

“And I brought you under false pretences,” he confessed.  “My brain’s not working.  I can’t dictate.  We’ll try another evening.  You don’t mind?”

“Of course not,” she answered, glancing at the clock.  “I’ll be going.”

“Wait a little time longer,” he begged.

She resumed her seat.  There was only one heavily shaded lamp burning on the table, and through the little cloud of tobacco smoke she watched him.  His eyes were sometimes upon the timepiece, sometimes on the telephone.  He seemed always, although his attitude was one of repose, to be listening, waiting.  It was half-past nine—­the middle of the second act.  They knew quite well that for a quarter of an hour Elizabeth would be in her dressing room.  She could ring up if she wished.  The seconds ticked monotonously away.  Martha found herself, too, sharing that curiously intense desire to hear the ring of the telephone.  Nothing happened.  A quarter to ten came and passed.  She rose to her feet.

“I am going home right now,” she announced.

He reached for his hat.

“I’ll come with you,” he suggested, a little halfheartedly.

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” she objected, “or if you do, I’ll never come inside your rooms again.  Understand that.  I don’t want any of these Society tricks.  See me home, indeed!  I’d have you know that I’m better able to take care of myself in the streets of New York than you are.  So thank you for your dinner, and just you sit down and listen for that telephone.  It will ring right presently, and if it doesn’t, go to bed and say to yourself that whatever she decides is best.  She knows which way her happiness lies.  You don’t.  And it’s she who counts much more than you.  Leave off thinking of yourself quite so much and shake hands with me, please, Mr. Ware.”

He gripped her hand, opened the door, and watched her sail down towards the lift, whistling to herself, her hands in her coat pockets.  Then he turned back into the room and locked himself in.