“I won’t,” she promised. “Especially as it must go against all your principles to have to take so much trouble over a woman.”
He made no answer, and, fearing she had unwittingly wounded him in some way, she hastened to change the conversation. She had instinctively come to know that beneath his brusque exterior he concealed a curious sensitiveness, and, remembering all that Cara had told her of the man’s history she regretted her insouciant speech as soon as it was spoken.
“Are you going to the dinner-party on board the Sphinx?” she asked, grasping hurriedly at the first topic that presented itself.
A quick ejaculation escaped him.
“I’d clean forgotten all about it,” he replied. “No, I didn’t intend going. I must send along a refusal, I suppose.”
“Why?”
“Why?” He looked at her rather blankly. The monosyllabic question, uttered so naturally, seemed to take him aback. “Why? Oh”—with a shrug—“these social gatherings don’t appeal to me. I prefer my own company.”
“It’s very bad for you,” observed Ann.
“What is? My own company?”
“Yes”—simply.