Christie turned her head away from him, and, with puckered forehead and drooping underlip, fell into a fit of deep pondering.

“Now’s the time for you to practise your new philosophy, Chris, of being frank with your lover!”

Wolf uttered this lightly, but his heart was beginning to beat again. Something had made him give to her confessed “decision” a meaning directly the reverse of what her words implied. Wicked, satyrish thoughts flashed through his mind like darting fish through disturbed water. Her frown deepened at his speech and her lip drooped still more. Then, with heightened colour, she turned quickly and faced him.

“Will⁠ ⁠… you⁠ ⁠… be⁠—” she began slowly. “I mean, will Gerda be⁠—” She hesitated; and then, speaking rapidly, and with wide-open eyes fixed steadily upon his: “Will you be free tomorrow night, Wolf? Father is going down to Weymouth tomorrow, on some affair of his own, and is going to stay the night there. So, if you like, I could get you supper, and we’d have everything to ourselves.”