“Of course not.  You know I like you immensely—­”

“Immensely,” he repeated with a smile.  “Once there was more of sentiment in your response, Valerie.  There is little sentiment in immensity.”

She flushed:  “I was spoons on you,” she said, candidly.  “I was silly with you—­and very indiscreet....  But I’d rather not recall that—­”

“I can not choose but recall it!”

“Nice men forget such things,” she said, hastily.

“How can you speak that way about it?”

“Because I think that way, Jose,” she said, looking up at him; but she saw no answering smile in his face, and little colour in it; and she remained unquietly conscious of his gaze.

“I will not talk to you if you begin to look at me like that,” she began under her breath; “I don’t care for it—­”

“Can I help it—­remembering—­”

“You have nothing to remember except my pardon,” she interrupted hotly.

“Your pardon—­for showing that I cared for you?”

“My pardon for your losing your head.”

“We were absolutely frank with one another—­”

“I do not understand that you are the sort of man a girl can not be frank with.  We imprudently exchanged a few views on life.  You—­”

“Many,” he said—­“and particularly views on marriage.”

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, Jose?  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.

“Jose,” she said, “what in the world possesses you to speak to me this way?  Have you any right to assume this attitude—­merely because I flirted with you as harmlessly—­or meant it harmlessly—­”

She glanced involuntarily across the studio where the others had gathered over the new collection of mezzotints, and at her glance Neville raised his head and smiled at her, and encountered Querida’s expressionless gaze.

For a moment Querida turned his head away, and Valerie saw that his face was pale and sinister.