The young man entered into a lively little war of words with a yellow-haired young person near the door. She felt that she became more familiar with the floor during the time that he stayed than with any particular person. He was alert, well-groomed, and yet—perhaps in contrast with the more volatile French type—there was a suggestion of weight about him, not to say heaviness. "But, we'll soon see. Still, I'm glad she didn't accept my invitation to join us. Ah Cum had no business taking him into the city last night. I—I hurt myself. "No, I don't. "Your sympathy is being wasted. What you said wanted saying. He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him. She took the piece of paper and unfolded it in the safety of her lap. "For my part, I don't think you ever quite got over the accident you met with on the night of the Great Storm. He then unfolded his choice and held it before her face. The inner apartment was rather gracefully furnished with a thick, fine Turkish carpet, a good brass fender, a fine old bureau, and on the walls were engravings of two young girls’ heads by Greuze, and of some modern picture of boys bathing in a sunlit pool.
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