"You would not try!" said Geoffrey, gloomily. "It would not be human if you tried."
"It would be professional," said Vesta. "Come, Doctor Strong, you see I can laugh about it, and you must laugh, too. Let us shake hands, and agree to forget all about it."
Geoffrey shook hands, and said she was very magnanimous; but he still felt hollow. The only further remark that his seething brain presented was a scrap of ancient doggerel:
"I wish I was dead,
Or down at Owl's Head,
Or anywhere else but here!"
This was manifestly inappropriate, so he kept silence, and paddled on doggedly.
"And aren't you going to ask what my disappointment really was?" inquired Vesta, presently. "But perhaps you have guessed?"
No, Geoffrey had not guessed.
"Don't you want to know? I should really—it would be a comfort to me to talk it over with you, if you don't mind."
Geoffrey would be delighted to hear anything that she chose to tell him.
"Yes, you seem delighted. Well—you see, you have not understood, not understood in the very least; and now in a moment you are going to know all about it." She paused for a moment, and there was an appeal in her clear, direct gaze; but Geoffrey did not want to be appealed to.