“Perhaps, we’d better be going back,” said Riatt calmly.
Christine barred the door, spreading out both her arms.
“She thinks you’re making love to me, Max.”
“And yet, Christine, I’m not.”
“But she doesn’t know that; she doesn’t know what an immovable iceberg you are.”
“No, indeed she doesn’t.”
Christine’s manner again changed utterly. All the playfulness disappeared. “You mean,” she said, “that you’re not cold and immovable with her?”
“What’s the use of my telling you anything, if you don’t believe me?” The idea of teasing Christine had never occurred to him before, but he thought highly of it. She came toward him at once.
“Oh, Max, my dear,” she said, “don’t be horrid, when I’m having such a wretched time anyhow. Don’t you think you might pretend to care for me just a little?”
Riatt rose. “Yes, I do,” he said, “and so I shall, in public.”