owes something . . . a parting scene, if nothing else. . . . Well, something . . . to a man one's been in bed with. . . . I didn't give you a parting scene at . . . ah, Yssingueux-les-Pervenches . . . so I give you this tip instead. . . . "
He said:
"Will you leave your bedroom door unlocked, or won't you?"
She said:
"If that man would throw his handkerchief to me, I would follow him round the world in my shift! . . . Look here . . . see me shake when I think of it. . . . " She held out her hand at the end of her long arm: hand and arm trembled together, minutely, then very much. . . . "Well," she finished, "if you see that and still want to come to my room . . . your blood be on your own head. . . . " She paused for a breath or two and then said:
"You can come. . . . I won't lock my door. . . . But I don't say that you'll get anything . . . or that you'll like what you get. . . . That's a fair tip. . . . " She added suddenly: "You sale fat . . . take what you get and be damned to you! . . . "
Major Perowne had suddenly taken to twirling his moustaches; he said:
"Oh, I'll chance the A.P.M.'s. . . . "
She suddenly coiled her legs into her chair.
"I know now what I came here for," she said.
Major Wilfrid Fosbrooke Eddicker Perowne of Perowne, the son of his mother, was one of those individuals who have no history, no strong proclivities, nothing, his knowledge seemed to be bounded by the contents of his newspaper for the immediate day; at
