"And you weren't aware of it—er—in my perg—"
"Hermia!"
"Or of the face powder on your coat lapel?"
"No."
"It was there, you know. You carried it quite innocently into the glare of the smoking-room. Poor Olga! And she is always so careful to cover her trails! But I warned her. She shall not trifle with your young affections—"
"You warned her?" he said, with a startled air.
"Yes, that unless she intended to marry you she must leave you alone."
Markham flicked a fly from the donkey's ear.
"H—m," he said, and relapsed into silence. She glanced at him sideways before she went on.
"You know you're not really angry with me, Philidor. You couldn't be.
It isn't my fault if I stumbled into the climacteric of your
interesting romance. I wouldn't willingly have done it for worlds.
But I couldn't help seeing, could I? And Olga was so self-possessed!
Only a woman terribly disconcerted could be quite so self-possessed as
Olga was. And then the next day you went away. Flight is confession,
Philidor."