II

           “Don’tyouremembermenow—atMrs.Murrett’s?”ShethrewthequestionatDarrowacrossatableofthequietcoffee-roomtowhich,afteravainlyprolongedquestforhertrunk,hehadsuggestedtakingherforacupoftea.

           Inthismustyretreatshehadremovedherdrippinghat,hungitonthefendertodry,andstretchedherselfontiptoeinfrontoftheroundeagle-crownedmirror,abovethemantelvasesofdyedimmortelles,whilesheranherfingerscomb-wisethroughherhair.ThegesturehadactedonDarrow’snumbfeelingsastheglowofthefireactedonhiscirculation;andwhenhehadasked:“Aren’tyourfeetwet,too?”and,afterfrankinspectionofastout-shodsole,shehadansweredcheerfully:“No—luckilyIhadonmynewboots,”hebegantofeelthathumanintercoursewouldstillbetolerableifitwerealwaysasfreefromformality.

           Theremovalofhiscompanion’shat,besidesprovokingthisreflection,gavehimhisfirstfullsightofherface;andthiswassofavourablethatthenameshenowpronouncedfellonhimwithaquitedisproportionateshockofdismay.

           “Oh,Mrs.Murrett’s—wasitthere?”

           Herememberedhernow,ofcourse:rememberedherasoneoftheshadowysidlingpresencesinthebackgroundofthatawfulhouseinChelsea,oneofthedumbappendagesoftheshriekingunescapableMrs.Murrett,intowhosetalonshehadfalleninthecourseofhishead-longpursuitofLadyUlricaCrispin.Oh,thetasteofstalefollies!Howinsipiditwas,yethowitclung!

           “Iusedtopassyouonthestairs,”sheremindedhim.