Taking courage from his confusion, Evie delivered herself of the predication which she had not had the courage to rehearse.
"Ronnie, I think we've both made a great mistake. I like you awfully. I don't think I could like a friend more. But I don't feel—well, you can see for yourself that we're not the same way of thinking. Don't imagine I'm a prude. I'm very broad-minded about that sort of thing, but you can see for yourself—"
He saw very clearly for himself and held out his hand.
"Friends?" he asked.
She experienced a thrill of one who creditably performs a great renunciation without any distress to herself.
"Friends!" she said solemnly.
Ronnie walked round to his writing chair and sat down. She found satisfaction in the tremor of the hand that opened a portfolio on his desk.
"And you're not hurt?" he asked anxiously.
"No, Ronnie."
"Thank God for that," said Ronald Morelle. He was looking in the black case: presently he pulled out half a dozen photographs and passed them across to her.