“Jose,” she said, “are you insane to take our innocent affair so seriously?  What in the world has come over you?  We have been such excellent friends.  You have been just as nice as you could be, so gay and inconsequential, so witty, so jolly, such good company!—­and now, suddenly, out of a perfectly clear sky your wrath strikes me like lightning!”

“My anger is like that.”

“Jose!” she exclaimed, incredulously.

He showed the edge of perfect teeth again, but she was not sure that he was smiling.  Then he laughed gently.

“Oh,” she said in relief—­“you really startled me.”

“I won’t do it again, Valerie.”  She looked at him, still uncertain, fascinated by her uncertainty.

The colour—­as much as he ever had—­returned to his face; he reached over for a cigarette, lighted it, smiled at her charmingly.

“I was just lonely without you,” he said.  “Like an unreasonable child I brooded over it and—­” he shrugged, “it suddenly went to my head.  Will you forgive my bad temper?”

“Yes—­I will.  Only I never knew you had a temper.  It—­astonishes me.”

He said nothing, smilingly.

“Of course,” she went on, still flushed, “I knew you were impulsive—­hot-headed—­but I know you like me—­”

“I was crazily in love with you,” he said, lightly; “and when you let me touch you—­”

“Oh, I won’t ever again, Jose!” she exclaimed, half-fearfully; “I supposed you understood that sentiment could be a perfectly meaningless and harmless thing—­merely a silly moment—­a foolish interlude in a sober friendship....  And I liked you, Jose—­”

[Illustration:  “‘I shall have need of friends,’ she said half to herself.”]

“Can you still like me?”

“Y-yes.  Why, of course—­if you’ll let me.”

“Shall we be the same excellent friends, Valerie?  And all this ill temper of mine will be forgotten?”

“I’ll try....  Yes, why not?  I do like you, and I admire you tremendously.”

His eyes rested on her a moment; he inhaled a deep breath from his cigarette, expelled it, nodded.

“I’ll try to win back all your friendship for me,” he said, pleasantly.

“That will be easy.  I want you to like me.  I want to be able to like you....  I shall have need of friends,” she said half to herself, and looked across at Neville with a face tranquil, almost expressionless save for the sensitive beauty of the mouth.

After a moment Querida, too, lifted his head and gazed deliberately at Neville.  Then very quietly: 

“Are you dining alone this evening?”

“No.”

“Oh.  Perhaps to-morrow evening, then—­”

“I’m afraid not, Jose.”

He smiled:  “Not dining alone ever again?”

“Not—­for the present.”

“I see.”

“There is nothing to see,” she said calmly.  But his smile seemed now so genuine that it disarmed her; and she blushed when he said: