And, looking up, he saw it for an instant, clear in her eyes. Then it died out; she turned a trifle pale, walked to the window and stood leaning against it, one hand on the curtain.
She did not seem to hear him when he came up behind her, and he touched her lightly on the arm:
"I ask your forgiveness," he said.
"It is granted, Mr. Quarren."
"Have I ruined our friendship?"
"I don't know what you have done," she said wearily.
A few moments later the motor arrived; Quarren turned on the electric lights in the room; Strelsa walked across to the piano and seated herself.
She was playing rag-time when the motor party entered; Quarren came forward and shook hands with Chrysos Lacy and Sir Charles; Langly Sprowl passed him with a short nod, saying "How are you, Quarren?"—and kept straight on to Strelsa.
"Rotten luck," he said in his full, careless voice; "I'd meant to ride over and chance a gallop with you but Wycherly picked me up and started on one of his break-neck tears.... What have you been up to all day?"
"Nothing—Mr. Quarren came."