The drawl in his voice was very apparent as he uttered the last sentence.  His chin was propped upon his hands.  He was obviously studying her with a deliberate criticism that observed and considered every detail.

But his scrutiny held without embarrassing her.  She met it with no conscious effort.

“I can’t bear cynicism,” she told him frankly.

He shrugged his shoulders.  “Cynics—­real cynics—­never can.”

“But I am not a cynic.”

“Are you sure of that?”

“Yes, quite sure.”

“And yet you tell me that you never take the trouble to flatter the inferior male.  That’s conflicting evidence, you know.  Are you a man-hater, by the way?”

She shivered as if at a sudden draught.  “I’m not prepared to answer that question off-hand.” she said.

“Very prudent of you!” he commented.  “Do you know I owe you an apology?”

“I shouldn’t have said so.”

“No?  Well, let me confess.  I’m rather good at confessing.  I didn’t believe you just now when you said you were twenty-five.  Now I do.  That single streak of prudence was proof absolute and convincing.”

“I usually tell the truth,” she said somewhat stiffly.

“Yes, it takes a genius to lie properly.  I am not so good at it myself as I should like to be.  But a woman of twenty-five ought not to look like a princess of eighteen—­a tired princess moreover, who ought to have been sent to bed long ago.”

Her laugh had in it a note of bitterness.  “You certainly are not the sort of genius you aspire to be,” she said, “any more than I am a princess of eighteen.”

“But you will be a queen at thirty,” he said.  “Hullo!  Here is someone coming!  Don’t speak, and p’r’aps they won’t discover us.  They can’t stay long.”

He rose swiftly with the words and blocked the little spy-hole with his body.  Certainly footsteps were approaching, but they ceased before they reached the alcove at the end of the passage.  There was another settee midway.

“Oh, this is quite comfortable,” said a woman’s voice.  “Here I am, Major Shirley!  It’s dark, isn’t it, but rather a relief after the glare downstairs.  What a crush it is!  I am beginning to think the Hunt Ball rather a farce, for it is next to impossible to dance.”

“People don’t know how to dance nowadays,” grumbled Major Shirley in response.  “I can’t stand these American antics.  That young Nap Errol fairly sickens me.”

“Oh, but he is a splendid dancer,” protested his partner tolerantly.

“Oh course you say so,” growled the Major.  “All women like that horrid little whipper-snapper.  I can’t see what in thunder they find to attract them.  I call him a downright cad myself, and I’m inclined to think him a blackguard as well.  He wouldn’t be tolerated if it weren’t for his dollars, and they all belong to his brother, I’m told.”

“Ah!  He is a charming man.  Such a pity he is a cripple!”