“Good night... if you must say it.”
“It's polite to say something... isn't it?”
“It would be polite to say, 'With pleasure, Mr. Siward!'”
“But you haven't invited me to do anything—not even to accept a cigarette. Besides, you didn't expect to meet me up here?”
The trailing accent made it near enough a question for him to say, “Yes, I did.”
“How could you?”
“I saw you leave the room.”
“You were sketching for Marion Page. Do you wish me to believe that you noticed me—”
“—And followed you? Yes, I did follow you.” She looked at him, then past him toward a corner of the wide hall where a maid in cap and apron sat pretending to be sewing. “Careful!” she motioned with smiling lips, “servants gossip.... Good night, again.”
“Won't you—”