"I don't think much of the man for allowing it. I would not have——"
Stara looked at him meditatively.
"No," she said at last; "you, I should say, would have followed it up till she'd really begun to care, not the mere passion that she felt to start with, but the steady love that comes with time, and only a woman, I believe, can feel. Then you'd have got bored and left her."
"That's cheap cynicism, Miss Selbourne; there are happy marriages."
"No doubt. I was talking of what you'd do. Very rude of me, but you introduced the subject."
Graeme felt very angry indeed. Analysis of character, he considered, to be his own particular privilege, and to have it applied to himself, especially when, as in this case, the reading was so obviously false, was most irritating. His whole life gave the lie to her words, he thought, and a sudden feeling of loyalty to and affection for Lucy sprang up, momentarily obliterating Stara's attractions from his mind.
"As it happens, Miss Selbourne," he said stiffly, "you're rather out in your prophecies. I've been married for the last ten years, and believe that, so far, I have shown none of the symptoms you mention."
"I apologise, Colonel Graeme. I didn't know, of course, and you don't look married."
The frown vanished from Hector's face, for her words were pleasing—no man likes to look married.
"I suppose," he said, "it's because I've been such a lot away. It's three years since I was last home."