'All the men are doing one thing. And all the women another.'
His idly curious look travelled up and down, and returned to her unenlightened.
'All the women,' she said, 'are trying with might and main to amuse the men, and all the men are more or less permitting the women to succeed.'
'I'm sorry,' he said, laughing, 'to hear of your being so over-worked.'
'Oh, you make it easy. And yet'—she caught the gratitude away from her voice—'I suppose I should have said something like that, even if I'd been talking to my other neighbour.'
Borrodaile's look went again from one couple to another, for, as usual in England, the talk was all tête-à-tête. The result of his inspection seemed not to lend itself to her mood.
'I can't speak for others, but for myself, I'm always conscious of wanting to be agreeable when I'm with you. I'm sorry'—he was speaking in the usual half-genial, half-jeering tone—'very sorry, if I succeed so ill.'
'I've already admitted that with me you succeed to admiration. But you only try because it's easy.'
'Oh!' he laughed.
'You rather like talking to me, you know. Now, can you lay your hand on your heart——'