“I was wondering what had become of you,” said Norah, in her sprightly manner.  “I met Mr. Lawson the other day—­did he tell you?—­and I informed him that it was really high time you came to see me again.”

Philip could see no shadow of embarrassment in her countenance, and he admired the use with which she carried off an encounter of which himself felt the intense awkwardness.  She gave him tea.  She was about to put sugar in it when he stopped her.

“How stupid of me!” she cried.  “I forgot.”

He did not believe that.  She must remember quite well that he never took sugar in his tea.  He accepted the incident as a sign that her nonchalance was affected.

The conversation which Philip had interrupted went on, and presently he began to feel a little in the way.  Kingsford took no particular notice of him.  He talked fluently and well, not without humour, but with a slightly dogmatic manner:  he was a journalist, it appeared, and had something amusing to say on every topic that was touched upon; but it exasperated Philip to find himself edged out of the conversation.  He was determined to stay the visitor out.  He wondered if he admired Norah.  In the old days they had often talked of the men who wanted to flirt with her and had laughed at them together.  Philip tried to bring back the conversation to matters which only he and Norah knew about, but each time the journalist broke in and succeeded in drawing it away to a subject upon which Philip was forced to be silent.  He grew faintly angry with Norah, for she must see he was being made ridiculous; but perhaps she was inflicting this upon him as a punishment, and with this thought he regained his good humour.  At last, however, the clock struck six, and Kingsford got up.

“I must go,” he said.

Norah shook hands with him, and accompanied him to the landing.  She shut the door behind her and stood outside for a couple of minutes.  Philip wondered what they were talking about.

“Who is Mr. Kingsford?” he asked cheerfully, when she returned.

“Oh, he’s the editor of one of Harmsworth’s Magazines.  He’s been taking a good deal of my work lately.”

“I thought he was never going.”

“I’m glad you stayed.  I wanted to have a talk with you.”  She curled herself into the large arm-chair, feet and all, in a way her small size made possible, and lit a cigarette.  He smiled when he saw her assume the attitude which had always amused him.

“You look just like a cat.”

She gave him a flash of her dark, fine eyes.

“I really ought to break myself of the habit.  It’s absurd to behave like a child when you’re my age, but I’m comfortable with my legs under me.”

“It’s awfully jolly to be sitting in this room again,” said Philip happily.  “You don’t know how I’ve missed it.”

“Why on earth didn’t you come before?” she asked gaily.

“I was afraid to,” he said, reddening.