For him that ended the discussion.
"I suppose not," he answered, and walked out of the room.
She made a quick movement as if to follow.
What she counted a sense of justice prevented her. It would not be fair to Digby Maur—poor boy!—to leave him with his picture uncompleted, merely on account of Cyprian's unprovoked animosity.
When Cyprian understood he would be sorry. But for his accusatory attitude she might have been quite willing to tell him the truth. She was a little eager to punish him and terribly miserable because she had left her pride no choice but to do so.
Meanwhile, he was asking himself what on earth she could see in Maur. The answer, as he supplied it, gave him furiously to think. Perhaps ... Youth.
An impossibly unsuitable comparison struck him. Worshipping whole-heartedly at Ferlie's shrine, what had he seen in Hla Byu? No wonder Ferlie refused to admit his right to protect her. He had forfeited it by his failure to protect himself from the insidious fascination of slant-eyed laughter and Youth's intense happiness.
Was Ferlie really attracted to——? But at this point Cyprian flung himself, with drawn brows, into his work.
They lived through three days of such Purgatory as only the great Lovers of this earth can inflict periodically upon themselves.
Then Ferlie, becoming desperate, betrayed her impatience to Digby, wildly immersed in his burnt siennas, chrome yellows and Venetian reds.