"Damn his friendship. That's not the reason. You've something up your sleeve."
She looked up at him innocently. "Have I? Then I must leave it to you to tell me what it is. But when you do," she added, smiling, "I hope you'll take another tone. In France men are gallant with women—"
"And in England women are straight with men. What they have to say they say. They don't lay snares, or lie in ambush."
She laughed. "Quant à cela, Col-on-el, il y en a pour tous les goûts, même en Angleterre."
"I'll bid you good-by, madame."
He bowed stiffly, and went out into the hail. She continued to smoke daintily, pensively, while she listened to him noisily pulling on his overcoat and taking his stick from the stand. As he passed the library door he stopped on the threshold.
"By Gad, she's mine!" he said, fiercely.
She got up and went to him, taking him by the lapel of the coat. There was something like pity in her eyes as she said: "My poor fellow, nobody has raised that question. What's more, nobody will raise it—unless you do yourself."