"But you're going home to them, aren't you?" said Josephine, in whose eyes the tears had already risen. He looked up at her, at her tears. His face had the same pale perverse smile.
"Not tonight," he said.
"But why? You're wrong!" cried Josephine.
He dropped his head and became oblivious.
"Well!" said Cyril Scott, rising at last with a bored exclamation. "I think I'll retire."
"Will you?" said Julia, also rising. "You'll find your candle outside."
She went out. Scott bade good night, and followed her. The four people remained in the room, quite silent. Then Robert rose and began to walk about, agitated.
"Don't you go back to 'em. Have a night out. You stop here tonight," Jim said suddenly, in a quiet intimate tone.
The stranger turned his head and looked at him, considering.
"Yes?" he said. He seemed to be smiling coldly.
"Oh, but!" cried Josephine. "Your wife and your children! Won't they be awfully bothered? Isn't it awfully unkind to them?"
She rose in her eagerness. He sat turning up his face to her. She could not understand his expression.
"Won't you go home to them?" she said, hysterical.
"Not tonight," he replied quietly, again smiling.
"You're wrong!" she cried. "You're wrong!" And so she hurried out of the room in tears.
"Er—what bed do you propose to put him in?" asked Robert rather officer-like.
"Don't propose at all, my lad," replied Jim, ironically—he did not like Robert. Then to the stranger he said:
"You'll be all right on the couch in my room?—it's a good couch, big enough, plenty of rugs—" His voice was easy and intimate.
Aaron looked at him, and nodded.
They had another drink each, and at last the two set off, rather stumbling, upstairs. Aaron carried his bowler hat with him.
