I laughed then. "He's not likely to do that. He's scared of women
altogether, and--excepting you--I've never known him to be at ease in a
woman's presence. When some of his girl students come to ask him about
their work, he stammers and looks uncomfortable till they're gone."
We talked on for a short time longer, and then she said she must go. She
put the cat into a chair and gave a final stroke to its sleek head. "A
saucer of milk after I've gone," she said, "is the best I can do for
him, isn't it? Will you give it him?" I promised I would, and then, as I
helped her on with her coat, she added: "I'm going to try to convert
him. Terrington, I mean, not the cat.... And I shall begin by calling
him Terry. Do you think he'll mind?"
I said laughingly that I didn't suppose he would encourage the liberty.
We walked out to Gower Street together, and I got her a taxi. "I daresay
it'll be a hard job," she said finally, as she shook hands, "but I mean
to do it."