th
their lashes hanging down. And the heads of those animals suggested to
her the thought: 'Poor man! He must be very lonely here.'

She started. Something was rubbing against her knees: it was only an
enormous bulldog. She stooped down to pat it, and having once begun,
found it impossible to leave off, for when she took her hand away the
creature pressed against her, and she was afraid for her frock.

"Poor old boy--poor old boy!" she kept on murmuring. "Did he want a
little attention?"

A voice behind her said:

"Get out, Sam! Sorry to have kept you waiting. Won't you come in here?"

Mrs. Pendyce, blushing and turning pale by turns, passed into a low,
small, panelled room, smelling of cigars and spirits. Through the
window, which was cut up into little panes, she could see the rain
driving past, the shrubs bent and dripping from the downpour.

"Won't you sit down?"

Mrs. Pendyce sat down. She had clasped her hands together; she now
raised her eyes and looked timidly at her host.

She saw a thin, high-shouldered figure, with bowed legs a little apart,
rumpled sandy hair, a pale, freckled face, and little dark blinking eyes.

"Sorry the room's in such a mess. Don't often have the pleasure of
seeing a lady. I was asleep; generally am at this time of year!"

The bristly red moustache was contorted as though his lips were smiling.

Mrs. Pendyce murmured vaguely.

It seemed to her that nothing of this was real, but all some horrid
dream. A clap of thunder made her cover her ears.

Bellew walked to the window, glanced at the sky, and came back to the
hearth. His little burning eyes seemed to look her through and through.
'If I don't speak at once,' she thought, 'I never shall speak at all.'

"I've come," she began, and with those words she lost her fright; her
voice, that had been so uncertain hitherto, regained its trick of speech;
her eyes, all pupil, stared dark and gentle at this man who had them all
in his power--"I've come to tell you something, Captain Bellew!"

The figure by the hearth bowed, and her fright, like some evil bird, came
guttering down on her again. It was dreadful, it was barbarous that she,
that anyone, should have to speak of such things; it was barbarous that
men and women should so misunderstand each other, and have so little
sympathy and consideration; it was barbarous that she, Margery Pendyce,
should have to talk on this subject that must give them both such pain.