There was something in her voice which seemed as if it had been meant to sting him; it only made him smile.
"I also think that possible."
She watched him as, having refilled and relighted his pipe, he puffed at it, as if he found in the flavour of the tobacco that consolation at which she had hinted. Perceiving that he continued to smoke in silence she spoke again, as if she resented being constrained to speak.
"I presume that you have some idea of what it is I wish to say to you?"
He shook his head.
"I haven't."
"Really?"
"Absolutely. If you will forgive my saying so, and I fear that you are in an unforgiving mood, I have ceased attempting to forecast what, under any stated set of circumstances, you may either say or do. You are to me what mathematicians call an unknown quantity; you may stand for something or for nothing. One never knows."
"I have not the honour to understand you, Mr Morice."
"Don't imagine that I am even hinting at a contradiction; but I hope, for both our sakes, that you understand me better than I do you."