“And have you humbled yourself to her, too?”
“No. With her,” he said slowly, “there was no need.”
“I see.” She laughed up at him frankly. “You know, I never took it very seriously. I’m sorry the thought of it has troubled you.”
He went on, ignoring her lightness, and determined to say everything. “I meant to meet you that night and tell you what I’m telling you now; but Christabel was very ill and I couldn’t leave her. I hope”—this was difficult—“I hope you didn’t get into any sort of mess.”
“That night?” She seemed to be thinking back to it. “That night—no—I went to a concert with Charles Batty.”
“Oh—” He was bewildered. “Then it was all right?”
“Perfectly, of course.”
“I didn’t know,” he muttered. “And you forgive me?”
She was generous. “I was just as bad as you. The Malletts are all flirts. Haven’t you heard Aunt Caroline say so? We can’t help doing silly things, but we never take them seriously. Why, you must have noticed that with Aunt Rose!”
“No,” he said with dignity, “your Aunt Rose is like nobody else in the world. I think I told you that once. She—” He hesitated and was silent.