Sabin raised his eyebrows.
"I understood," he said, "that you had something to say to me of
importance."
She shot a quick look up at him.
"Don't be horrid," she said in a low tone. "Of course I wanted to
see you. I wanted to explain. Give me one of your cigarettes."
He laid his case silently before her. She took one and lit it,
watching him furtively all the time. The man brought their coffee.
The place was almost empty now, and some of the lights were turned
down.
"It is very kind of you," he said slowly, "to honour me by so much
consideration, but if you have much to say perhaps it would be
better if you permitted me to call upon you to-morrow. I am afraid
of depriving you of your ball--and your friends will be getting
impatient."
"Bother the ball--and my friends," she exclaimed, a certain
strained note in her tone which puzzled him. "I'm not obliged to
go to the thing, and I don't want to. I've invented a headache,
and they won't even expect me. They know my headaches."
"In that case," Mr. Sabin said, "I am entirely at your service."
She sighed, and looked up at him through a little cloud of tobacco
smoke.
"What a wonderful man you are," she said softly. "You accept
defeat with the grace of a victor. I believe that you would triumph
as easily with a shrug of the shoulders.
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