He seemed puzzled.
“Well, it’s a long time ago, and I scarcely remember what it was like.... I dare say it was rather fatuously clever: I used to think myself a dab hand at letter-writing in those days.”
That was as reasonable an explanation as she could have expected. She switched on to another line of questioning.
“You remember that time we were on the balcony at the Forest Hotel—just before the others came up?”
“Yes.”
“You—I believe—you were trying to apologize to me—for something. Now, what was it?”
He seemed embarrassed as well as puzzled.
“Well,” he began hesitatingly, “of course I may have been wrong—probably I was—but I always understood—I mean I had gathered that—that there had been a sort of—er, misunderstanding between us.”
“Why should you apologize for that?”
“Well, if there had been one it might have been my own fault. So I thought I’d apologize——”