“Shall I see you again?”
There was just enough of something that was not indifference in her voice, as she put the question, for Bayre to feel himself softening against his will.
“Oh, I—I don’t know,” he began. And then he said abruptly, “Do you wish to see me again—before I go?”
She lowered her eyelids demurely.
“Not if you think it too much trouble to come so far out of your way, Mr Bayre.”
“Oh, that’s just what I do feel, of course, that it’s too much trouble,” said he.
Miss Eden affected to misunderstand his tone.
“I thought so. Then good-bye, Mr Bayre.”
And she put out her hand with an off-hand coolness which, although he felt convinced that it was only assumed to annoy and pique him, made him furious.
“Oh, good-bye,” said he, with as little cordiality as was consistent with common decency, as he touched and dropped her offered hand and went to the door.