She doesn't understand; she believes he has taken a sudden dislike to her. "Your boast, you see, was a little premature, Mr. It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. She rose, paid her bill, and turned westwards. Silk. Something in her lack of embarrassment irritated him. He was reaching wearily for some kind of buffer to his harrying conscience. Walking to the station with him. “I should imagine,” he said, shaking out a copy of The Times, “that it is your brain which is addled. Then the hotel manager struck his palms together sharply, and two Chinese "boys" came pattering in from the dining room.
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