At ten o’clock, they retired to their separate rooms — Collis on the fourth floor and Hannah on the third. Collis took a bath, and shaved, and drank a small glass of bourbon while he sat wrapped in a towel reading the evening’s paper and cooling off. He wasn’t entirely sure that Hannah wanted him to come to her room tonight; or, if she did, when. She had kissed him very firmly and lovingly on the lips as he left her outside her door, and said good night to him in a way that had seemed to suggest she was expecting a later assignation. But the more Collis thought about it, the more he began to doubt whether it had.

He sprayed himself with lavender cologne, combed his hair, and began to dress in a freshly boiled shirt and evening clothes. Of course she wanted him to come down to her room and make love, he reassured himself. Why else had she left Walter? Yet Hannah’s affections confused him, and he still had disturbing recollections of that night aboard the Virginia, when she had refused to let him into her cabin. He didn’t relish the idea of a repeat performance in the august corridors of the International.

He went to the door, opened it, and stepped outside. Then he changed his mind and came back in again. He could see himself in the mirror over the fireplace, biting his lip. If only he were sure. But then he heard the high laughter of a girl in the corridor outside, and he thought, to hell with it. I’ve upset her before, and if I upset her again, it’s too bad. I actually love the woman.

Downstairs, outside of room 304, he tugged his coat-tails straight, ran his hand through his hair, and knocked. A stately woman with silver hair and ropes of silvery pearls came gliding past him with all the magnificence of a China clipper, and he gave her a quick and uneasy good evening.

At last, he heard the latch on Hannah’s door unfastened. The door opened two or three inches, as if the wind had blown it, and Collis hesitated for a moment. Then he heard Hannah’s soft, Boston-accented voice say, ‘Come in, my darling.’

He stepped in and closed the door behind him. Hannah’s room was smaller than his, lit by a single frosted-glass lamp. Hannah herself was sitting on the edge of the veneered bed, her long blonde hair brushed and brushed, her eyes bright. She wore a long white nightdress of layered lace, with wide sleeves and decorated cuffs, and she looked as pretty and sad as a seraph.

‘I, er — I came down,’ said Collis, uncertainly.

She smiled and held out her hand. ‘I was waiting for you,’ she said.

He came across the room and took her hand between his. ‘You’re not feeling any regrets, are you?’ he asked her.