She lighted a second cigarette and sat very upright, the cigarette in her mouth and her hands on the handle of her stick.
"You can't help it, of course. Men with your coloured eyes never can. That green hazel—girls ought to be taught at school that it's a danger-signal. Only, since your heart's not in the business any more than her's is—as you say, you were both bored to death—I want to ask you, as a personal favour to me, just to let the whole thing drop. Let the girl alone. Go right away."
"It's an unimportant detail, and I'm ashamed to mention it," said Vernon, "but I've got a picture on hand—I'm painting a bit of the Warren."
"Well, go to Low Barton and put up there and finish your precious picture. You won't see Betty again unless you run after her."
"To tell the truth," said Vernon, "I had already decided to let the whole thing drop. I'm ashamed of the trouble I've caused her and—and I've taken rooms at Low Barton."
"Upon my word," said Miss Desmond, "you are the coldest lover I've ever set eyes on."
"I'm not a lover," he answered swiftly. "Do you wish I were?"
"For Betty's sake, I'm glad you aren't. But I think I should respect you more if you weren't quite so arctic."
"I'm not an incendiary, at any rate," said he, "and that's something, with my coloured eyes, isn't it?"
"Well," she said, "whatever your temperature is, I rather like you. I don't wonder at Betty in the least."