to Valerie that he had sucked something out of her. She stood uncertainly a moment. Then she closed the door into the composing-room for no reason except that she had to do something to sharpen her consciousness again. Then she sat down in her chair and deliberately pieced him together as he had stood in front of her. He was little more than two inches taller than herself, slightly but well made, and she judged him to be about thirty-six years old. In spite of his unusual appearance she had seen nothing of the poseur in his manner. Indeed she had been surprised by a certain simplicity, an unconsciousness of himself. And he had not thrust forth any tentacles at her. Bob had jeered at his mode of dressing, but he was simply carrying the easy and conventional clothes of the artist into the camp of the Philistines, as the Philistines carried their clothes into the haunts of the artist. If he had a beautiful throat Valerie saw no reason why he should not wear low soft collars and open shirts. If he liked colour she saw no reason why he should not wear a vivid tie, provided that his manner did not proclaim it, and his did not. She had liked the cut of his navy serge suit, and the freshness of his white silk shirt and the comfort of his canvas shoes. He knew how to combine fastidiousness and finish with colour and ease. Beside him Bob looked like a bull beside a deer.
She remembered that she had heard him called effeminate, but nothing effeminate had looked at her out of those eyes of his, nor was there anything unmasculine about his voice.
It was half an hour before she could get her thoughts back on working up Bob’s notes of the county council meeting of the afternoon before. She didn’t seem to care how many tons of stone were put on the road between Aratapu and Dargaville before the winter came, or whether; Princess Street was ever shelled again or not.
