He leaned back in his chair with elaborate indifference.
“Justin?”
She was actually smiling at him—pleased, he supposed, with the success of her idiotic performance.
“I don’t know that it’s anything much,” he was impelled to begin. “It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s only——” He broke off.
“Tell me,” she insisted. And again he disliked her tone. Who was she to order him about? Oh, well, if she wanted it she should have it....
“You’re rather different from what I expected.” He stopped. It was not perfectly easy, annoyed as he was.
“How?”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“How?” She had a touch of colour in her cheek. Her bright eyes compelled him.
“You’re—rather French, you know. You don’t seem quite—natural.”