"I infer it. Am I right or wrong?"
Still not looking at him, she made an impatient gesture with both hands.
"Allowing you are right. What then?"
He did not reply for several minutes. He was stroking his amber mustache with one white, well-shaped hand; his eyes were now turned from hers, hers from him.
"I shall go abroad in a short time. I shall go in less than a fortnight," he said.
It was a most audacious thing to say, and he knew it thoroughly. It was the bold stroke that must either annul his hopes completely, or feed them with a fresh life.
Claire seemed to answer him only with the edges of her lips.
"In no way. I did not say it did. But you might choose to sail a week or two later. Alone, of course. It would be Paris, with me. You have told me that you wanted very much to see Paris."
She turned and faced him, then, more agitated than angry.