"Da," she muttered, folding her gown tightly around her, "I must go downstairs and fetch some wood. Brr! the cold!"
"There isn't any wood," volunteered the strange man. She gave a little cry of astonishment, and then tossed her head.
"You again," she said scornfully, conscious the while of his merry eye, and the fresh, strong smell of his healthy body.
"The landlady shouted out there was no wood left. I just saw her go out to buy some."
"Story—story!" she longed to cry. He came quite close to her, stood over her and whispered:
"Aren't you going to ask me to finish my cigarette in your room?"
She nodded. "You may if you want to!"
In that moment together in the passage a miracle had happened. Her room was quite changed—it was full of sweet light and the scent of hyacinth flowers. Even the furniture appeared different—exciting. Quick as a flash she remembered childish parties when they had played charades, and one side had left the room and come in again to act a word—just what she was doing now. The strange man went over to the stove and sat down in her arm-chair. She did not want him to talk or come near her—it was enough to see him in the room, so secure and happy. How hungry she had been for the nearness of someone like that—who knew nothing at all about her—and made no demands—but just lived. Viola ran over to the table and put her arms round the jar of hyacinths.
"Beautiful! Beautiful!" she cried—burying her head in the flowers—and sniffing greedily at the scent. Over the leaves she looked at the man and laughed.
"You are a funny little thing," said he lazily.
"Why? Because I love flowers?"
"I'd far rather you loved other things," said the strange man slowly. She broke off a little pink petal and smiled at it.
"Let me send you some flowers," said the strange man. "I'll send you a roomful if you'd like them."
His voice frightened her slightly. "Oh no, thanks—this one is quite enough for me."
"No, it isn't"—in a teasing voice.
"What a stupid remark!" thought Viola, and looking at him again he did not seem quite so jolly. She noticed that his eyes were set too closely together—and they were too small. Horrible thought, that he should prove stupid.
"What do you do all day?" she asked hastily.
"Nothing."
"Nothing at all?"
"Why should I do anything?"
"Oh, don't imagine for one moment that I condemn such wisdom—only it sounds too good to be true!"
"What's that?"—he craned forward. "What sounds too good to be true?" Yes—there was no denying it—he looked silly.
"I suppose the searching after Fraulein Schafer doesn't occupy all your days."
"Oh no"—he smiled broadly—"that's very good! By Jove! no. I drive a good bit—are you keen on horses?"
She nodded. "Love them."
"You must come driving with me—I've got a fine pair of greys. Will you?"
"Pretty I'd look perched behind greys in my one and only hat," thought she. Aloud: "I'd love to." Her easy acceptance pleased him.
"How about to-morrow?" he suggested. "Suppose you have lunch with me to-morrow and I take you driving."
After all—this was just a game. "Yes, I'm not busy to-morrow," she said.
A little pause—then the strange man patted his leg. "Why don't you come and sit down?" he said.
She pretended not to see and swung on to the table. "Oh, I'm all right here."
"No, you're not"—again the teasing voice. "Come and sit on my knee."
"Oh no," said Viola very heartily, suddenly busy with her hair.
"Why not?"
"I don't want to."
"Oh, come along"—impatiently.
She shook her head from side to side. "I wouldn't dream of such a thing."
At that he got up and came over to her. "Funny little puss cat!" He put up one hand to touch her hair.
"Don't," she said—and slipped off the table. "I—I think it's time you went now." She was quite frightened now—thinking only: "This man must be got rid of as quickly as possible."
"Oh, but you don't want me to go?"
"Yes, I do—I'm very busy."
"Busy. What does the pussy cat do all day?"
"Lots and lots of things!" She wanted to push him out of the room and slam the door on him—idiot—fool—cruel disappointment.
"What's she frowning for?" he asked. "Is she worried about anything?" Suddenly serious: "I say—you know, are you in any financial difficulty? Do you want money? I'll give it to you if you like!"
"Money! Steady on the brake—don't lose your head!"—so she spoke to herself.
"I'll give you two hundred marks if you'll kiss me."
"Oh, boo! What a condition! And I don't want to kiss you—I don't like kissing. Please go!"
"Yes—you do!—yes, you do." He caught hold of her arms above the elbows. She struggled, and was quite amazed to realise how angry she felt.
"Let me go—immediately!" she cried—and he slipped one arm round her body, and drew her towards him—like a bar of iron across her back—that arm.
"Leave me alone! I tell you. Don't be mean! I didn't want this to happen when you came into my room. How dare you?"
"Well, kiss me and I'll go!"
It was too idiotic—dodging that stupid, smiling face.
"I won't kiss you!—you brute!—I won't!" Somehow she slipped out of his arms and ran to the wall—stood back against it—breathing quickly.
"Get out!" she stammered. "Go on now, clear out!"
At that moment, when he was not touching her, she quite enjoyed herself. She thrilled at her own angry voice. "To think I should talk to a man like that!" An angry flush spread over his face—his lips curled back, showing his teeth—just like a dog, thought Viola. He made a rush at her, and held her against the wall—pressed upon her with all the weight of his body. This time she could not get free.
"I won't kiss you. I won't. Stop doing that Ugh! you're like a dog—you ought to find lovers round lamp-posts—you beast—you fiend!"