"Catharine."
"That's the cunning little one with the baby stare and brown curls?"
"Yes."
There was a silence. Clive sat absently fidgeting with his glass, and Athalie watched him. Presently without looking up he said: "Yes, Cecil Reeve is a very decent sport.... Rather gay. Good-looking chap. Nice
sort.... But rather a sport, you know."
The girl nodded.
"Catharine mustn't believe all he says," he added with a laugh. "Cecil has a way—I'm not knocking him, you understand—but a young—inexperienced girl—might take him a little bit too seriously.... Of course your sister wouldn't."
"No, I don't think so.... Are you that way, too?"
He raised his eyes: "Do you think I am, Athalie?"
"No.... But I can't help wondering—a little uneasily at times—how you can find me as—as companionable as you say you do.... I can't help wondering how long it will last."