Emile's interest rose by several degrees as he sat down on the edge of
the bed.
"I didn't knock," he said, speaking English fluently enough, but with
the hard, clipped accents of the Slav. "I can't bother about all that
humbug. If you're straight with me I'll be straight with you, and we
may as well be friends. I dare say you think you're very good-looking
and all that, but it doesn't make any difference to me. You're here,
and I'm here, so we may as well be here together."
"I'm so sorry," Arithelli replied, "but I'm always so stupid and sleepy
in the mornings. Do you mind saying it all over again?"
And very much to his own surprise Emile Poleski repeated his remarks.
It struck him that there was something of the boy, the _gamin_, about
her in spite of her exotic appearance. That was so much the better and
would suit admirably with his schemes for her. It was better that she
should not be too much of a woman; for in the realms of anarchy there
is no sex, though comradeship is elevated to the dignity of a fine art.
For chivalry and love making there is neither the time nor the desire,
and those who are wedded to _La Liberte_ find her an all-sufficient
idol for purposes of worship.
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