Wearily she shut her eyes. "Do you remember the time when Mortimer was charming?"
"Indeed I do; he was quite delightful till he fell in love with you. He is really a warning against loving."
"You hardly heed it, do you?" Her voice was very bitter. How he hated the entry of the acidulated tragic into all their talks.
"Perhaps not." He felt guilty, knowing how much he was hurting her. "After all you cannot ask me to model myself on the man who bores you most in the world."
She smiled. "What a good reason for not loving me!"
"The best!" He was smiling his enchanting, flattering smile at her—the smile that always seemed to draw you into the Holy of Holies of his confidence.
"I may be going away to-morrow," she said.
"May you?"
"But I shall be back on Thursday. Shall we dine together that night?"
"I am dining with a Russian friend of mine who is passing through London."