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Although I avoided her eyes, she stood holding the door still open, and looking at me as if to read my thoughts.

“Are you going, monsieur?” she asked, after a long pause.

“No, I’m not—yet.” I spoke bluntly, almost rudely; and with a shrug and a lift of the eyebrows, she left the door and crossed the room to her former place.

“M. Boreski, will you see that the carriage is sent back to the stable, and is kept in readiness for M. Denver?”

Boreski understood her, and going out shut the door carefully behind him.

I made no attempt to speak, but sat staring moodily down on the ground and trying to think; and Helga on her side was resolutely silent. Several minutes passed in this dead silence until it got on my nerves. She forced me to break it.

“Well, what is it you want?” I asked, most ungraciously.

The way she met me was characteristic. She laughed softly and sweetly, and looked across at me.

“My mood has passed, monsieur,” she said, quoting my words. “Shall we wait for yours to pass also? Permit me?” and she rose and offered me a cigarette from a dainty gold case.