“Almost a vicious habit. But lately it’s been . . . I’ve been away more often. You may have heard” — her eyes danced — “that I paint.”

He smiled and nodded.

“I’ve heard it rumoured.”

“Of course. So many of your friends belong to the studio set, don’t they?”

Mannering laughed, and took his cigarette-case from his waistcoat-pocket. Lorna shook her head as he proffered it.

“You keep saying what you’re not feeling,” Mannering said, as he selected a cigarette and poised it in the air. “It seems out of character to me. There are pretty cats and pretty women, each admirable of their species, but when a woman turns cat she seems all claws — from the man’s point of view.”

“Some men’s. Anyhow” — she flushed — “I’m sorry. What were you thinking of in there?”

“You want the truth?”

“It’s not entirely out of fashion — even in our age.”

“I was wondering what your eyes would look like if a lamp was held in front of them, as it was held over the diamonds.”

“Ye-es. You’re capable of thinking like that. What else ?”

“I was wondering what the chances were of breaking into the strong-room,” said Mannering, laughing. He hardly knew what dare-devil spirit prompted the statement; it came almost unbidden.

She stared at him for a moment, and he was puzzled by the expression in her eyes.

Finally her lips curved.

“Ye-es,” she said again; “I believe you’re capable of that too.”

“Of thinking of it?”

“Even doing it.”

Mannering lit his cigarette, glad of the chance to keep his eyes averted. God! She was near the mark! And he was a fool to have mentioned the idea.

“H’m. Well, it’s a good job I can resist that temptation,” he said. “I’m not thinking of trying it yet. And now, with the night still young, what next ?”

“I liked that “yet”,” she said.

“Forget it.”

“I doubt if I ever shall, so be careful. As for the rest of the evening, I’d rather like to dance in a crowd, where there’s no room to move or breathe, the noise negroid, and the band to match. But I think it would be fairer to go back to my studio.”