For a while Charles Verity let the silent communion continue. Then, lest it should grow enervating, to either or to both, he spoke of ordinary subjects—of poor little General Frayling's illness, of Miss Felicia's plans, of his own book. It was wiser for her, better also for himself, to step back into the normal thus quietly closing the door upon their dual act of retrospective clairvoyance.
Damaris, catching his intention, responded; and if rather languidly yet loyally played up. But, before the spell was wholly broken and frankness gave place to their habitual reserve, there was one further question she must ask if the gnawings of that false conscience, begotten in her by Henrietta's strictures, were wholly to cease.
"Do you mind if we go back just a little minute," she said.
"Still unsatisfied, my dear?"
"Not unsatisfied—never again that as between us two, Commissioner Sahib.
You have made everything beautifully, everlastingly smooth and clear."
"Then why tempt Providence, or rather human incertitude, by going back?"
"Because—can I say it quite plainly?"
"As plainly as you will."
"Because Henrietta tells me I have—have flirted—have played fast and loose with—with more than one person."
A pause, and the question came from above her—her head still lying against his breast—with a trace of severity, or was it anxiety?