Shirley interrupted this amiable interchange by demanding curtly whether her guest took milk and sugar. He transferred his attention to her, and to her annoyance insisted on discussing the ball at the manor. Her monosyllabic replies did not seem to abash him in the least. She knew by the twinkle in his eye that he was amused by her evident annoyance, and she tried to conceal it.
When tea was over she suggested to Mark that he might clear it away, and no sooner had he left the room than she attacked Amberley openly. "Well? What is it?" she asked.
"What is what?" he inquired.
"Why did you come? You don't suppose I believe that it was to bring me my handkerchief, do you? If you do you must think I'm a fool!"
"I do," he said. A rather disarming smile went with the words and provoked an answering gleam from her.
She suppressed it rigorously. "Nor can I suppose that you came for the pleasure of my callow company."
He laughed. "At least you have a good memory," he said.
"I think," she said forcefully, "that you are the rudest man I have ever had the misfortune to meet."
"Really? And I should think you're a competent judge too."
She gave a sudden laugh and got up. "You're impossible," she said, and held out her hand.