"You are sure?" she insisted.
He took her upraised face between his hands. "I have always understood you," he said.
"I can't help being sorry for him, can I?" she said wistfully.
He bent and kissed her. "It's a wasted sentiment, my child; but if it pleases you to be sorry, I have no objection."
"He is much nicer than you think," she pleaded.
He laughed at that. "I've known him from his cradle. He's a typical Wyndham, you know. They are all charming in one sense, and all rotten in another."
"Oh, Max!" she protested.
"I'm an exception," he said; "neither charming nor rotten. Now, my dear, since your estimable little chaperon has deserted you it's up to me to send you to bed. Do you want a drink before you go?"
She leaned her head against his shoulder. "No, I don't want anything. I feel as if I had had too much already. I don't want to go to bed, Max. I don't want to end this perfect day."
"There is always to-morrow," he said.