"Why?"
"If I honestly regretted last night, I could stay."
"Why do you lie to yourself?" she asked, crossing the room toward him. "You have no real intention of going."
His gaze sank. "I shall try to go," he muttered.
She laughed—after she had returned to the safer distance of the window seat. "What a passion for hypocrisy you men have. 'I shall try.' You hope that last tiny rag of a remnant will cover your real purpose."
"You think I am a dishonorable dog. I don't wonder at it."
"No, I don't. But I do think you are taking yourself entirely too seriously. You don't want to go, do you? And I don't wish you to go. And Richard doesn't want you to go."
"He'd compel it if he knew."
"But he doesn't know. Maybe, if I knew some things about you, I'd want you to go. Maybe, if you knew me thoroughly, you'd be eager to go. As it is, we all want things to stay as they are."
"Last night was a warning."