n exterior of self-possession, deceptive to the casual observer,
sometimes became molten, and she was frightened by a passion that made
her tremble--a passion by no means always consciously identified with
men, embodying all the fierce unexpressed and unsatisfied desires of her
life.

These emotions, often suggested by some hint of beauty, as of the
sun glinting on the river on a bright blue day, had a sudden way of
possessing her, and the longing they induced was pain. Longing for what?
For some unimagined existence where beauty dwelt, and light, where the
ecstasy induced by these was neither moiled nor degraded; where shame,
as now, might not assail her. Why should she feel her body hot
with shame, her cheeks afire? At such moments she would turn to the
typewriter, her fingers striking the keys with amazing rapidity, with
extraordinary accuracy and force,--force vaguely disturbing to Mr.
Claude Ditmar as he entered the office one morning and involuntarily
paused to watch her. She was unaware of his gaze, but her colour was
like a crimson signal that flashed to him and was gone. Why had he
never noticed her before? All these months, for more than a year,
perhaps,--she had been in his office, and he had not so much as looked
at her twice. The unguessed answer was that he had never surprised
her in a vivid moment. He had a flair for women, though he had never
encountered any possessing the higher values, and it was characteristic
of the plane of his mental processes that this one should remind him
now of a dark, lithe panther, tensely strung, capable of fierceness. The
pain of having her scratch him would be delectable.

When he measured her it was to discover that she was not so little, and
the shoulder-curve of her uplifted arms, as her fingers played over
the keys, seemed to belie that apparent slimness. And had he not been
unacquainted with the subtleties of the French mind and language, he
might have classed her as a fausse maigre. Her head was small, her hair
like a dark, blurred shadow clinging round it. He wanted to examine
her hair, to see whether it would not betray, at closer range, an
imperceptible wave,--but not daring to linger he went into his office,
closed the door, and sat down with a sensation akin to weakness,
somewhat appalled by his discovery, considerably amazed at his previous
stupidity. He had thought of Janet--when she had entered his mind
at all--as unobtrusive, demure; now he recognized this