"I thought you didn't want to." She liked him too well not to show a little coquetry, a little challenge. "I thought so too, or tried to think so." "I was sure you had deserted me. You said such--well, such severe things." "I say them all still." "But here you are!" she cried, laughing. "Yes, here I am," said he, but he was grave and looked intently at her. She grew red again as she met his gaze, and frowned a little. "I'm not sure I'm glad you've come after all," she said after a pause. "Why have you come? I don't quite understand." "I've come to see you, to look on at your happiness," he answered. "You've no right to talk like that." They became silent. From the inner room they heard Lady Attlebridge's nervous efforts at conversation and Quisante's fluent, too fluent, responses. He was telling the good lady about her great social influence, and, little as she liked him, she seemed to listen eagerly. Marchmont looked at May and smiled. He was disappointed when she returned his smile. "He's a little too much of a politician, isn't he?" she asked. Her refusal to perceive the insinuation of his smile made him ashamed of it. "We all are, when we've something to get, I suppose," he said with a shrug. "Oh, I don't think you need reproach yourself," she exclaimed, laughing. There was a short pause. Then he said suddenly, "You're the one person in the world to talk to." Now she neither laughed nor yet rebuked him, and, as his eyes met hers, he seemed to have no fear that she would do either the one or the other. Yet he could not quite understand her look; did she pity him or did she entreat for herself? For his life he could not answer. The only thing he knew was that she would follow her path and take for husband the man who flattered Lady Attlebridge in the inner room. Then she spoke in a low voice. "Yes, do come, come and see us afterwards, come as often as you like." He raised his eyes to hers again. "Because the oftener you come, the more you'll understand him, and the better you understand him, the better you'll know why I'm doing what I am." The soft look of pity or of entreaty vanished from her eyes now. She seemed to speak in a strong and even defiant confidence. But he met her with a resolute dissent. "If you want me, I'll come. But I shan't understand why you did what you're doing and I shall never see in him what you want me to see." He looked round and saw Quisante preparing to join them. "Am I to come, then?" he asked. Quisante was walking towards them; she answered with a nervous laugh, "I think you must come sometimes anyhow." Then she raised her voice and said to Quisante, "I'm telling Mr. Marchmont that I shall expect to see him often at our house."