“When you said I oughtn’t to have come, you were perfectly right. I oughtn’t. I ought never to have come here with you. I thought you could stand corn, and I find you can’t. I thought you understood, and I find I was wrong. I tell you now you were never ‘up on the daïs’—never within miles of it. Because I gave you my friendship, I suppose you thought I cared.”
“I did,” said Pembury quietly. “It was very presumptuous, but I did. And if I’d had enough to keep you, I’ld ’ve made certain. . . . And now that you know, old lady, have a heart. Forgive me for being clumsy and call it ‘Nerves.’ I’m like a spoilt child this evening. You’ve spoiled me by being so nice. And now I know that it’s over, I’m kicking against the pricks.”
There was a long silence.
At length—
“What’s over?” said Lady Elizabeth.
“Act One,” said her host shortly. “The spoiling process. My—er—tastes being what they are, I must retire. If you want another reason, Hilton hasn’t much use for me. I don’t know that I blame him, but that’s neither here nor there. He hasn’t. And since he hasn’t, neither must you. Incidentally, you haven’t, any way. I said it first.”
“You know I have, Dick. You know I have. I’m sorry I burst out just now. You’re perfectly right, of course. You always are. To laugh about Hilton to you was shocking form. To turn and rend you because you told me so was painfully cheap. I was wild, because I was guilty. I was guilty, because I was wild.”
“Dot, don’t——”
“Listen. You say I’ve spoiled you. What rot! What blazing rot! Why, all my life you’ve spoiled me. You’re spoiling me now. And I’m wild because I know that it ends to-night. ‘Nerves’? Yes, if you like. Call it ‘Nerves.’ ” With a queer, dry laugh, she glanced at the watch on her wrist. “I’ll have to be going, my dear. Have you got the car?”
“She’s in St. James’s Square.”