"Going to sulk a bit—eh?" he now asked, with that self-conscious, conciliatory little grin of his.
"No; it isn't sulkiness," said Sophy. "I'm only wondering how much you really care?"
"I care a deuce of a lot, Daphne. 'Pon my soul I do."
"And you think such things as you said and—and did to me, the other night, can be made all right by a 'beg pardon'?"
Chesney moved uneasily. His eyes slipped from under hers. He lit another cigarette with elaborate care.
"Look here, Daphne," he said in a would-be bluff, frank tone. "What did I say ... and do? You know I get confoundedly blurry sometimes, when one of these beastly attacks is coming on."
"You really don't remember?" Sophy asked, looking at him keenly. She saw a slow red cloud his pale face.
"Well ... I've a hazy notion that I went for Gerald ... about those pearls. Nasty things!" he broke off viciously. "Mere pretty diseases—tumours—you know I loathe 'em."
Sophy had wondered many times what had become of her pearls after he had strewn the floor with them. She said now:
"What have you done with them, Cecil?"