She said, steadily: "I told you that I cared at heart nothing at all for ceremony and form. You said the same. But you misunderstood me. What was there in that silly conversation significant to you or to me other than an impersonal interest in hearing ideas expressed?"
"You knew I was in love with you."
"I did not!" she said, sharply.
"You let me touch your hands—kiss you, once—"
"And you behaved like a madman—and frightened me nearly to death! Had you better recall that night, José? I was generous about it; I was even a little sorry for you. And I forgave you."
"Forgave me my loving you?"
"You don't know what love is," she said, reddening.
"Do you, Valerie?"
She sat flushed and silent, looking fixedly at the cups and saucers before her.
"Do you?" he repeated in a curious voice. And there seemed to be something of terror in it, for she looked up, startled, to meet his long, handsome eyes looking at her out of a colourless visage.