“Do you always determine what your eyes mean to see beforehand?”
“I don’t wear rose-coloured glasses, at any rate.” He had certainly changed a good deal, for he now liked to spar with her, and his tone was eager.
“Poor Cesare!” she sighed. “Did he glare?”
“Like a Trojan.”
“Well, you can’t expect him to like you.”
“You might say, us.”
“Oh no,” she said carelessly. “I was the first sinner, I own; but I did try to apologise, and you didn’t. You wounded his—”
“Vanity,” put in Wilbraham with a laugh. “So be it. I shall have to bear the consequences as best I can.”
Teresa was restless this evening. She got up again.
“There’s the ten-o’clock bell.”