“You must come and see me some afternoon,” she said to him. It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult. Her hair was of the darkest brown, and finest texture; and, when unloosed, hung down to her heels. Why, then, did he touch it? As he climbed heavily into his chair, she was able to note the little beads of sweat under the cracked nether lip. Perhaps you will explain the state of panic into which I seem to have thrown you. He had heard me sing—the fool thought himself in love with me. “I suppose things have changed?” she said.
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