At the close of the second song, he leaned his elbow on the top of the instrument, and stood so, searching her face with such discomposing directness that a burning wave of colour submerged her, and she dropped her eyes. "I don't believe you ever criticised me till to-night, Major Desmond," she murmured, striking soft chords at random with her left hand. "Not since I really came to know you," he answered in the same tone. "You have never given me cause." "Well--I don't like it." "Few of us do. You prefer indiscriminate admiration?" The flush deepened, but she looked up. "I prefer your approval to your disapproval," she said, still moving her hand over the notes. "But I have always gone my own way; and I warn you that nothing rouses the devil in me like being scolded or dictated to." "My dear Quita, I have no right nor wish to do either. I only want to ask you a question or two--if I may?" "What about?" "Your husband. He won't consult Courtenay; and I am getting anxious. Would you mind telling me about how much sleep he has had this last week?" She shrugged her shoulders. "As far as I know he hardly ever comes to bed at all." "Quita, you are exaggerating!" "I only mean, it's no use asking me for accurate information." "But do you know that insomnia's a serious thing--especially for him?" "Yes. I made a fuss when he first began working late. It's bad for him and a nuisance for me. But I have given that up now. He's as obstinate as I am about going his own way. It's almost the only quality we share in common." "Don't you feel it might be worth trying again?" "Possibly. If _you_ think I ought." Desmond's eyes twinkled at the implied compliment. "I do think it." She sighed. "Oh, well,--I don't promise, and we've had enough of the dismal subject for now. One never seems allowed to enjoy one's self in peace. D'you want more music, or--would you prefer whist?" "I'm to cut in, and leave Richardson free. Is that it?" The blush that still burned in her cheeks spread slowly over her neck to the soft lace at her breast; and the man felt that in his momentary vexation he had struck too hard. Then her eyes flashed fire into his. "Major Desmond, if you begin saying things like that to me--I shall _hate_ you." "No, Quita. It'll never be that between us. I apologise. But you know I care immensely for your husband, and it angers me to see you--apparently indifferent . . ." "Indifferent? How _dare_ you . . . ?" she breathed low and passionately, her breath coming in small gasps. "I understand. But I'm not sorry I roused you.--Here comes Honor. I know she wants to get home early. Good-night to you. Am I forgiven?" "No. But you will be--to-morrow morning. I believe one could forgive you almost anything." "I'll not be base enough to take advantage of such a generous admission," he answered, smiling and grasping her hand.