"But really, I am—"
"No, no, you aren't. Never mind! We'll be good friends some day. And I know how artists with tempers hate to be interrupted."
"I hope my temper is not especially bad," said Claude, stiffening with sudden reserve.
"I think it's pretty bad, but I don't mind. What a dear, funny little room! But you never sit in it."
"Not often."
"I long to see your very own room. But I'm not going to ask you."
There was a slight pause. Again the ironical light came into her eyes.
"You're wondering quite terribly why I've come here again," she said. "It's about the yacht."
"I'm really so very sorry that—"
"I know, just as I am when I'm refusing all sorts of invitations that I'd rather die than accept. Slipshod, but you know what I mean. You hate the idea. I'm only just going to tell you my party, so that you may think it over and see if you don't feel tempted."