'No; but she would think I tried to deceive her.'
'Would you mind that?' he asked.
'Very much. I like her.'
Bilton knew well the value of the waiting game in an argument, the futility of trying to persuade a woman to do something, especially if she shows the least sign of persuading herself. So he said nothing whatever, since her re-opening the subject pointed to an already existing indecision. But her final answer, when it came, was not in the least what he expected.
'And I refuse finally to help you,' she said. 'If you wish, I will discuss the dresses.'
Bilton would never have made himself so successful a career as he had had he not possessed to a very high degree the power of concentrating his mind on one thing, to the complete exclusion of other preoccupations, and for the next half-hour no cloud of what had happened crossed in his mind the very clear sky of the new play's prospects. He was able to give his whole and complete attention to it, until between them they had settled what he desired to settle. Then, since, like all other days, it was a busy day with him, he rose.
'Good-bye, Dorothy,' he said, 'and don't overdo it.'
Once again she wavered.
'And do you forgive me?' she asked.
'Not in the least. But I don't imagine you care.'