The Viscount spoke earnestly, with a tone which made for conviction even though Kent had believed that he would talk on just about these lines. He had been impressed, had leaned forward intent to follow every word of the old statesman. Now he relaxed a little, leaned back in his chair, let his eye wander. Suddenly he felt as if some one had called sharply for his attention; involuntarily, mechanically, he looked past the screen. She was peering intently into the room, frankly eavesdropping, and her eyes were fixed on his as if she wished by mere force of will to compel him to look at her. Apparently that was it, for immediately the appearance of concentration vanished. She rose, gathered some envelopes and descended the stairs noiselessly in her soft _zori_.
There had been something indefinably impressive about these quite ordinary actions. Of course, she would probably ordinarily have called from the hall below one of the innumerable office boys to mail her letters. That she had chosen to go herself might have some slight significance; but, even beyond that, the conviction came upon him as clearly as if she had shouted it to him that she wished to speak to him. Could it be that she really wanted to see him? The interview was over. He must go, anyway. He would soon know.
He thanked the Viscount, feeling the while that, impressed as he had been while under the direct sway of the old man's magnetism, the interview would become cold, worth little, when examined in the somber light of appraisement of its worth as copy. Had he been able to quote Viscount Kikuchi, it might have had some value. But as it was, he had gained nothing, not even the slightest clew. They shook hands and he left.
Once on the street, he glanced eagerly up and down for the nearest post-box. Yes, there she was, half hidden by the red, stunted column. He went up to her eagerly. She made no pretense that she was not waiting for him. As he came close, he could see that she was excited, almost breathless.
He lifted his hat. "Adachi-san." But she was too eager to pay heed to mere matters of courtesy. "Mr. Kent," for a moment he felt the pressure of a small hand on his sleeve, "he lied to you."
He was struck utterly dumb, could but stare at her amazed. His first reaction was one of disappointment. As he had hastened down to see her, he had had no conscious thought of what he might expect. His whole mind had been concentrated on the question as to whether he had really been right in thinking that she wished to see him clandestinely, out of the hearing of the Viscount. Now he realized that he must, subconsciously, have expected something quite different, something in the lines of furtherance of purely personal intimacy. And here she was evidently not interested in him at all as an individual, but had some obscure purpose connected with the political issue. He had to wrench his mind into adjustment to this entirely new aspect of the matter, as he stood, hat still in his hand, gaping at her.