His eyes followed hers to his gilt-buttoned yachting jacket.
"You can never judge a man by his clothes," he said. "Necessity is the mother of pretension."
"Are you married yet?"
"Hardly. There are only two things that a man can't honestly promise: to love, and to cease to love. I'm still too poor to afford those lies."
Mary only half understood his mood, but she was wholly intent on keeping him free of dreaded topics.
"Do you hear anything of the people we used to know?" she asked.
"Well," said Philip, "Rose was let off, you know, and is back at the old address and the old business." He looked at his watch and started. "By Jove," he continued; "I must have been pretty tight. I had no idea it was so late. I've got to be getting back to the yacht soon."
He stood up, his cap in one hand. Mary followed him to the stair door, and there he turned.
"Violet," he said, "I am going to tell you how sorry I am. I am going to tell you, whether you like to hear it or not."
The flush had gone from his face and eyes, leaving them simple and sincere.