“I mean, have you caught another glimpse of Mr. Saffren?”
At that she showed a prettier colour in her cheeks than any in her sketch-box, but gave no other sign of shame, nor even of being flustered, cheerfully replying:
“That is far from the point. Do you grant my burning plea?”
“I understood I had offended you.”
“You did,” she said. “VICIOUSLY!”
“I am sorry,” I continued. “I wanted to ask you to forgive me—”
I spoke seriously, and that seemed to strike her as odd or needing explanation, for she levelled her blue eyes at me, and interrupted, with something more like seriousness in her own voice than I had yet heard from her:
“What made you think I was offended?”
“Your look of reproach when you left the table—”
“Nothing else?” she asked quickly.