She turned her face from him, unanswering. And Cyprian incomprehensibly knew that he would never seek out Muriel Vane with that question on his lips; that her image would slowly drift out of his dreams and that before it receded for ever he could make no effort to call it back. Could not? Then it was true that no man worshipped only at one shrine in a lifetime? It was the Ideal and not the Individual to which he burnt his incense! The most startling part of this discovery was that nothing mattered at the moment save that Ferlie would be glad of it.
"As the years go by, one must change," he said diffidently.
She drew a long breath and spoke nonchalantly lest it should be interpreted as relief.
"She must be quite an old woman by now. At least twenty-six or twenty-seven."
Cyprian's laughter shattered the imperceptible barrier of restraint.
"How old do you think I am, Ferlie?"
She surveyed him critically. "Well, you are never any particular age to me because, underneath, I feel you are about mine; but the other girls don't think you look more than forty."
"They are a little premature. I am only thirty-five."
"It's a good age, you know," said Ferlie gravely. "How terribly short Life is; over before you have got anywhere."
"You think I have wasted mine, up to date?"