"I try to consider him a type."
"Well, don't find an exception. Oh, I'm not talking at random. I know!" She paused a moment and then went on: "There's a question I should like to ask you, but I suppose it's a question nobody ought to ask; it's too impertinent, even for me, I'm afraid."
Sibylla looked at her, and a faint touch of colour rose on her cheeks. There was a little defiance about her manner, as though she were accused, and stood on her defence rather uneasily. She understood what question it was that even Christine could not ask.
"Grantley and I are—perfectly good friends," she said.
Christine's next question was drawled out in a lazy murmur, and was never completed, apparently from mere indolence.
"It's you who——?"
Sibylla nodded in an abrupt decisive fashion.
"And who do you see most of?" asked Christine.
The colour deepened a little on Sibylla's face.
"That doesn't follow. Don't talk like that."