Returning to his bedroom, he discovered she was standing in the same place, obviously waiting for him. He said, in the mildest voice he could summon, “Vanessa darling, I think you should go downstairs. I will finish dressing swiftly and join you momentarily.”

“But why can’t I stay here, wait for you?” she asked, teasing.

“Because it would look improper, and it is actually improper for a young lady to be in a man’s bedroom, watching him put on his clothes. Come along.”

He walked across the room and took hold of her arm, and drew her toward the door. Instantly, she grabbed onto him and pressed her body against his. He felt a sudden flare of desire but controlled himself, and led her into the corridor. “Ten minutes,” he said softly, a smile flickering.

She nodded her understanding, half smiled at him and went downstairs. Robert stepped back into his bedroom and locked the door, although he laughed to himself as he did this.

It didn’t take him long to finish dressing, but as he did so he realized one thing. He was not too old for her. It was the reverse. She was too young for him. Twenty-two, a mere girl. Seventeen years was a big difference. Had he made a mistake? Should he terminate this relationship?

He was not sure what to do. All of a sudden he was at a loss, myriad thoughts running through his head.

Walking across the dressing room, he looked at himself in the Cheval mirror, straightened his tie, adjusted the jacket, and went out and into the bathroom.

After combing his hair, smoothing it into place, he took a face cloth, ran cold water on it and pressed it against his cheeks. The coolness helped, and after a few seconds he dried his face.

At least I look presentable, he thought, glancing in the mirror again. He turned away, preoccupied with thoughts of Vanessa. She was so young, inexperienced, and innocent in so many ways. Her sudden and unexpected appearance in his bedroom had signaled all this to him, and now he was on the horns of a dilemma. It was time to decide.

He found her in the yellow drawing room, sitting in a chair. She looked forlorn, even a bit miserable, and his heart went out to her.

As he crossed the floor to join her, he was pleased the fire burned in the grate. The house felt damp, somewhat cold on this wet August evening, and he was still chilled.

Sitting down opposite her, he said, “We must have a little talk, darling—”

Instantly, she cut in, exclaiming, “Please don’t be angry with me, Robert!”

“I’m not angry.”

“But maybe you’re disappointed in me, that I barged in the way I did!” she cried.