'Yes. He—or she—came on a matter of business. What I said about a teacher was mere nonsense. Now you know the whole thing.'
'Excepting what the business was,' Margaret said incredulously.
'The business was an uncut stone,' answered Logotheti with indifference. 'He had one to sell, and I bought it. He was recommended to me by a man in Constantinople. He came to Marseilles on a French steamer with two Greek merchants who were coming to Paris, and they brought him to my door. That is the whole story. And here is the ruby. I bought it for you, because you like those things. Will you take it?'
He held out what looked like a little ball of white tissue-paper, but Margaret turned her face from him.
'You treat me like a child!' she said.
To her own great surprise and indignation, her voice was unsteady and she felt something burning in her [{92}] eyes. She was almost frightened at the thought that she might be going to cry, out of sheer mortification.
Logotheti said nothing for a moment. He began to unroll the paper from the precious stone, but changed his mind, wrapped it up again, and put it back into his watch-pocket before he spoke.
'I did not mean it as you think,' he said softly.
She turned her eyes without moving her head, till she could just see that he was leaning forward, resting his wrists on his knees, bending his head, and apparently looking down at his loosely hanging hands. His attitude expressed dejection and disappointment. She was glad of it. He had no right to think that he could make her as angry as she still was, angry even to tears, and then bribe her to smile again when he was tired of teasing her. Her eyes turned away again, and she did not answer him.
'I make mistakes sometimes,' he said, speaking still lower, 'I know I do. When I am with you I cannot be always thinking of what I say. It's too much to ask, when a man is as far gone as I am!'