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, José!" 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, José--" [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, José." 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: "Am I to wish you happiness, Valerie? Is _that_ the trouble?" "Certainly. Please wish it for me always--as I do for you--and for everybody." But he continued to laugh, and the colour in her face persisted, annoying her intensely. "Nevertheless," he said, "I do not believe you can be hopelessly in love." "What ever put such an idea into that cynical head of yours?" "Chance," he said. "But you are not irrevocably in love. You are ignorant of what love can really mean. Only he who understands it--and who has suffered through it--can ever teach you. And you will never be satisfied until he does."' "Are you _very_ wise concerning love, José?" she asked, laughing. [Illustration: "'Don't do it, Valerie!'"] "Perhaps. You will desire to be, too, some day. A good school, an accomplished scholar." "And the schoolmaster? Oh! José!"