It was necessary to say something, and, feeling that any unguarded word would jeopardise his chances, he said—
"I think I told you that night that you liked Ulick Dean. I can quite understand it; he is a nice fellow enough. Are you going to marry him?"
"No, I am not in love with him—I never was. I liked him merely."
"I can understand; all those hours you spent with him studying Isolde."
"Yes, it was that music, it gets on one's nerves.... But, Owen, there is no excuse."
"We'll think no more about it, Evelyn. I am glad you do not love him. My greatest fear was to lose you altogether."
She was touched by his kindness, as he expected she would be, and he sat looking at her, keeping as well as he could all expression from his face. He thought that he had got over the greatest difficulty, and he congratulated himself on his cleverness. The question now was, what was the next move?
"You are not looking very well, Evelyn. You don't sleep—you want a change. The Medusa is at Cowes; what do you say for a sail?"
"Owen, dear, I cannot go with you. If I did, you know how it would end, I being what I am, and you being what you are. There would be no sense in my going yachting unless I went as your mistress, and I cannot do that."
"You love that fellow Ulick Dean too much."