More Deadly Than The Male

"I thought it was something like that," George said, still curious. "It was pretty recent, wasn't it?"

Cora didn't say anything.

After a moment's hesitation, George went on, "How did it happen?"

"He's got enemies," Cora said.

George looked up, startled. "Enemies?" he repeated blankly.

"Look here, I want to go to sleep," Cora said sharply. "I wish you'd turn out the light."

George got up from his chair and crossed the room to the light switch. He paused as he passed her bed. "Comfortable?" he asked, thinking how lovely she looked.

"Yes. Now please put out the light."

George sighed. How much nicer it would have been if she wasn't quite so matter of fact. It was as if she was used to sleeping in strange men's rooms. George didn't want to go to sleep. It was all too exciting. He wanted to sit on her bed and watch her, even if she didn't wish to talk.

But he put out the light and groped his way back to his chair.

"I don't suppose this means anything to you," he blurted out after a long silence.

"Oh, God!" she said impatiently. "Can't you sleep? What means nothing to me?"

"Being here . . ." George was glad it was dark. He felt the irritating flush mounting to his face. "I've never had a girl in my room before."

"You're a simple soul, aren't you?" she said. "Are you getting a kick out of this?"

George warmed to her immediately. So she could be kind in a rather patronizing way!

"Of course I am," he said, and encouraged by the darkness, he went on, a little haltingly. "This has been a marvellous evening for me. I don't suppose you realize what it means to me."

"Why not?"

"Well, perhaps you do; but you're not lonely like I am. I spend most of my time on my own. I don't know why, but I just don't seem to make friends. I haven't met anyone I wanted to make my friend— until now." He coughed nervously, alarmed at his own rashness. Well, he had said it now. He almost cringed while waiting for her to reply. Was she going to be kind?

She didn't say anything.

George waited anxiously, and then realized, with a sense of frustration, that she wasn't going to reply.

"I expect you think I'm a hit of a fool," he said, a little bitterly. "I suppose I am really. I suppose most people would think I'm a bit soft being so fond of Leo—he's my cat. It's funny about Leo. I used to think people were a bit soft myself, being fond of animals; but somehow Leo's different." He stared into the darkness, trying to see her. "It's when you're lonely, you know. Animals seem to understand. They don't demand anything from you. If you don't feel like talking, they just sit with you. If you want to go out, they don't mind. Leo's jolly good company, but of course it isn't the same as having someone you can really talk to. Is it?"

She still didn't reply.

He waited a moment and repeated a little louder, "Is it?"

"Is what?" she asked sleepily.

"Oh, nothing; you're nearly asleep, aren't you? I'm sorry. But it's not often I get anyone to talk to."

"That's pretty obvious," she said tartly, turning on her side. "You'd talk a donkey's hind leg off."

But he couldn't let her go to sleep just yet. It was only eleven o'clock, and it seemed such a wicked waste of a marvellous opportunity, just to sleep.

"I say, Cora," he said, lighting a cigarette.

"Hmmm?"

"Shall I see you again after this?"

He could just make out her head lifting off the pillow. "If you're going to smoke I may as well have one, too," she said. "Then I am going to sleep, and if you disturb me again I'll throw you out of the room."

He hurried across the room and gave her a cigarette. The flickering flame of the match lit up her face. She looked up at him, her eyes dark and tired, expressionless.

"You don't mind me calling you Cora, do you?" George went on, bending over her.

"Call me what you like," she said, lying back on the pillow. The tip of the cigarette glowed red, and he could just see her straight, small Roman nose.

He sat on the edge of the bed. "Shall I see you again after this?" he repeated, because it was something important, something that was preying on his mind. He couldn't bear the thought of not seeing her again.

"I suppose so," she returned indifferently; "only Sydney doesn't like people hanging around."

"Doesn't he?" George was startled. "Why not?"

"You'd better ask him."

"But that needn't mean we won't see each other again, will it?"

"What's the matter with you?" she asked. "Surely a fellow like you has got dozens of girls."

"I haven't," George said, too anxious to keep in character. "I don't like women as a rule. But you're different."

"Am I?" There was a slight note of interest in her voice. "What do you mean?"

George hesitated. What exactly did he mean? He wasn't sure himself. She was beautiful, of course. But was that all that mattered so much to him? He didn't think so. There was something else. There was something strong about her, independent; she was someone he could rely on.

"I think you're wonderful," he said slowly. "You're the most astonishing person I have ever met."