She laughed quietly, incomprehensibly.
“Well,” he insisted, aggrieved, “haven't you?”
She leaned toward him; almost, he told himself, there was a flash of animation on her immobile face. “Escape, what do you mean by that?” she demanded. “Does anyone escape—will young Morris and Mina? And you?”
“Oh, not I,” he replied, thrown off his mental balance by the rapid attack of her questioning; “I am tied in a thousand ways. But you surprise me.”
“I could,” she remarked, coldly, returning to her corner. “Your self-satisfaction makes me rage, How do you dare, knowing nothing, to decide what I am and what I can do? You're like William, everyone I meet—so sure for others.”
“No, I'm not,” he contradicted her with a rude energy; “and, after all, I didn't accuse you of much that was serious. I only said you were apparently above the circumstances that spoil so many women.”
“It isn't necessary to repeat yourself,” she reminded him disagreeably; “I have a trace of memory.”
“And with it,” he answered, “a very unpleasant temper.”
“Quite so,” she agreed, once more calm; “you seem fated to tell me about myself. I don't mind, and it gives you such a feeling of wisdom.” The car stopped before the Grove house and, within, her good-night was indifferent even for her. What, he wondered, what the devil, had upset her? He had never encountered a more incomprehensible display of the arrogantly feminine.
In his room, however, re-establishing his sense of comfort, he found, on a low table by the bed, a choice of whiskies, charged water, cigarettes, nectarines, orange-brown mangoes, and black Belgian grapes, Attached to an electric plug was a small coffee percolator; for the morning, Lee gathered. His pajamas, his dressing gown and slippers, were conveniently laid at his hand. He was, in fact, so comfortable that he had no desire to get into bed; and he sat smoking, over a tall drink, speculating about his hostess. Perhaps she had difficulties with the obdurate correctness of William; but Mrs. Grove would have been too well-steeled there to show any resentment to a virtual stranger; no, whatever it was lay within herself. He gave it up, since, he proclaimed aloud, it didn't touch him.