‘Then how is it you’ve forgotten?’
‘I didn’t forget.’
‘Don’t tell fibs.—Something is the matter,—tell me what it is.—Is it that I am too early?’
‘Nothing of the sort,—you couldn’t be too early.’
‘Thank you.—When you pay a compliment, even so neat an one as that, sometimes, you should look as if you meant it.—It is early,—I know it’s early, but afterwards I want you to come to lunch. I told aunt that I would bring you back with me.’
‘You are much better to me than I deserve.’
‘Perhaps.’ A tone came into her voice which was almost pathetic. ‘I think that to some men women are almost better than they deserve. I don’t know why. I suppose it pleases them. It is odd.’ There was a different intonation,—a dryness. ‘Have you forgotten what I came for?’
‘Not a bit of it,—I am not quite the brute I seem. You came to see an illustration of that pleasant little fancy of mine for slaughtering my fellows. The fact is, I’m hardly in a mood for that just now,—I’ve been illustrating it too much already.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, for one thing it’s been murdering Lessingham’s cat.’