“What mistake did I make?” she said.
“You kept that leaf,” said Colin pityingly. “A record of your triumph, I suppose, like a cotillon-toy, to dream over when you were mistress here.”
“Go on,” said she.
Colin came closer yet. “Darling, will you be awfully nice to me,” he said, “and give me that leaf as a birthday present? It would be a delightful souvenir. You know where it is.”
She paused. She remembered the tradition of the icy self-repression of the Lady Yardleys who had preceded her, the frost that fell on them. From personal knowledge there was her grandmother. That Arctic night was darkening on her now, and she shivered.
“I don’t know where it is,” she said. “Make up another lie.”
He rose. “You must learn politeness, Violet,” he said. “You must learn many useful things. I am being very kind to you. You don’t appreciate that.”
Night had not quite fallen yet.
“Just as you were kind to Raymond,” she said.
He smiled at her. “Yes, the same sort of kindness,” he said.