Guests with other engagements were taking their leave.  A piquante little woman, outrageously but effectively dressed—­she looked like a drawing by Beardsley—­drew her aside.  “I’ve always wished I were a man,” she said.  “It seemed to me that they had all the power.  From this afternoon, I shall be proud of belonging to the governing sex.”

She laughed and slipped away.

Phillips was waiting for her in the vestibule.  She had forgotten him; but now she felt glad of his humble request to be allowed to see her home.  It would have been such a big drop from her crowded hour of triumph to the long lonely cab ride and the solitude of the hotel.  She resolved to be gracious, feeling a little sorry for her neglect of him—­but reflecting with satisfaction that he had probably been watching her the whole time.

“What’s the matter with my tie?” he asked.  “Wrong colour?”

She laughed.  “Yes,” she answered.  “It ought to be grey to match your suit.  And so ought your socks.”

“I didn’t know it was going to be such a swell affair, or I shouldn’t have come,” he said.

She touched his hand lightly.

“I want you to get used to it,” she said.  “It’s part of your work.  Put your brain into it, and don’t be afraid.”

“I’ll try,” he said.

He was sitting on the front seat, facing her.  “I’m glad I went,” he said with sudden vehemence.  “I loved watching you, moving about among all those people.  I never knew before how beautiful you are.”

Something in his eyes sent a slight thrill of fear through her.  It was not an unpleasant sensation—­rather exhilarating.  She watched the passing street till she felt that his eyes were no longer devouring her.

“You’re not offended?” he asked.  “At my thinking you beautiful?” he added, in case she hadn’t understood.

She laughed.  Her confidence had returned to her.  “It doesn’t generally offend a woman,” she answered.

He seemed relieved.  “That’s what’s so wonderful about you,” he said.  “I’ve met plenty of clever, brilliant women, but one could forget that they were women.  You’re everything.”

He pleaded, standing below her on the steps of the hotel, that she would dine with him.  But she shook her head.  She had her packing to do.  She could have managed it; but something prudent and absurd had suddenly got hold of her; and he went away with much the same look in his eyes that comes to a dog when he finds that his master cannot be persuaded into an excursion.

She went up to her room.  There really was not much to do.  She could quite well finish her packing in the morning.  She sat down at the desk and set to work to arrange her papers.  It was a warm spring evening, and the window was open.  A crowd of noisy sparrows seemed to be delighted about something.  From somewhere, unseen, a blackbird was singing.  She read over her report for Mrs.