“Will you come this way,” she said, “into the drawing-room? There is no one there just now. It was not due to shyness: it was the inherent instinct of the Woman, a protective fear that she must retain some elements of mystery in order to hold the interest of the male. God, I hate these stupid ear infections! Have you ever had one?” Michelle asked. What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was less than a day now, less than twenty hours. Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play.
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