“Is this going to be one of them?”

“Don’t make fun of me, please,” she begged, “You are like so many Englishmen.  Directly a woman tries to talk seriously, you will push her back into her place.  You like to treat her as something to frivol with and make love to.  Is it your amour propre which is wounded, when you feel sometimes forced to admit that she has as clear an insight into the more important things of life as you yourself?”

“Do you talk like that with Baring?” he asked.

For several seconds she was silent.  Her eyes had contracted a little.  She seemed to be seeking for some double meaning in his words.

“Captain Baring is an intelligent man,” she said, “and he is a man, too, who understands his own particular subject.  Of course it is a pleasure to talk to him about it.”

“I thought navy men, as a rule,” he remarked, “were not communicative.”

“Do you call it communicative,” she enquired, “to discuss the subject you love best with your greatest friend?  But let us not talk any more of Captain Baring.  It is in you just now that I am interested, you and your future.  You seem to think that your friends at the Foreign Office are not going to find you another position—­for some time, at any rate.  You are not one of those men who think of nothing but sport and amusing themselves.  What are you going to do during the next few months?”

“At present,” he confessed thoughtfully, “I have only the vaguest ideas.  Perhaps you could help me.”

“Perhaps I could,” she admitted.  “We will talk of that another time, if you like.”

It was obvious that she was speaking under a certain tension.  The silence which ensued was significant.

“Why not now?” he asked.

“It is too soon,” she answered, “and you would not understand.  I might say things to you which would perhaps end our friendship, which would give you a wrong impression.  No, let us stay just as we are for a little time.”

“This is most tantalising,” grumbled Norgate.

She leaned over and patted his hand.

“Have patience, my friend,” she whispered.  “The great things come to those who wait.”

An interruption, commonplace enough, yet in its way startling, checked the words which were already upon his lips.  The telephone bell from the little instrument on the table within a few feet of them, rang insistently.  For a moment Mrs. Benedek herself appeared taken by surprise.  Then she raised the receiver to her ear.

“My friend,” she said to Norgate, “you must excuse me.  I told them distinctly to disconnect the instrument so that it rang only in my bedroom.  I am disobeyed, but no matter.  Who is that?”

Norgate leaned back in his place.  His companion’s little interjection, however, was irresistible.  He glanced towards her.  There was a slight flush of colour in her cheeks, her head was moving slowly as though keeping pace to the words spoken at the other end.  Suddenly she laughed.