"I know perfectly well how things are going," he went on, as she did not reply. "There's going to be an engagement in this house in about five minutes, and a general flare up of congratulations and excitement all round; and you're feeling out of it. I can understand that; but why you should turn round upon me, when I've laid myself out to be agreeable to you—and haven't worried you either—I don't understand. I call it devilish unfair."
Joan felt that it was unfair. It was true that he had often caused her to forget her troubles; and it was true that he had not "worried" her for days.
"I am rather unhappy, sometimes, about things I don't want to talk about," she said; "but I'm sorry if I've been disagreeable. I won't be any more. Shall we play bezique?"
"No, we won't play bezique. We'll talk. Look here, you know quite well what I want of you. I've been——"
"I don't want to talk about that."
"Well, I do, and you've got to listen this time. I've been playing the game exactly as you wanted it so far, and you can't refuse to give me my innings."
This also was fair; and as love-making was apparently not to be introduced into the game, Joan sat silent, looking into the fire, her chin on her hand, and a flush on her cheeks.
"It's pretty plain," he went on, "that I haven't got much farther with you in the way I should like to have done. You've always shown you didn't want me to make love to you, and I haven't bothered you much in that way; now have I?"
"No," said Joan. "And I shan't listen to you if you do."
"All right. I'm not going to. But there's another way of looking at things. We do get on well together, and you do like me a bit better than you used to, don't you? Now answer straight."