"Oh, if you don't know—I don't! I merely wondered—You did say definitely you would come to the reception. So of course—I expected you. Then you never turned up. And—naturally——!"
A ghost of a shrug completed the sentence.
"I'm awfully sorry. I didn't flatter myself you'd notice——" Roy said simply. There were moments when she made him feel vexatiously young. "You see—it was my novel—got me by the hair. And when that happens, I'm rather apt to let things slide. Anyway, you got the better man. And if you found him dull, I'd have been nowhere."
She was silent a moment. Then: "I think—if you don't mind—we'll leave Major Desmond out of it," she said; adding, with a distinct change of tone: "What's the hidden charm in that common little Miss Delawny? I saw you dancing with her again to-day."
The subtle flattery of the question might have taken effect, had it not followed on her perplexing remark about Lance. As it was, he resented it.
"Why not? She's quite a nice little person."
"I daresay. But we've plenty of nice girls in our own set."
"Oh, plenty. But I rather bar set mania. I've a catholic taste in human beings!"
"And I've an ultra fastidious one!" Look and tone gave her statement a delicately personal flavour. "Besides, out here ... there are limits——"
"And I must respect them, on penalty of your displeasure?" His tone was airily defiant. "Well—make me out a list of irreproachables, and I'll work them off in rotation—between whiles!"