His voice betrayed him, revealing the personal element behind the proffered counsel. Jean glanced at him between her lashes. So that was it! He was jealous--jealous of Burke! At last something had happened to pierce the joints of his armour of assumed indifference! Her heart sang a little pæan of thanksgiving, and all that was woman in her rose bubbling to meet the situation. In an instant she had recaptured her aplomb. “I think I rather enjoy playing with unexploded bombs,” she returned meditatively. “There are always--possibilities--about them.” “There are”--grimly. “And it is precisely against those possibilities that I am warning you.” “Don’t you think it’s rather bad taste on your part to warn me against a man who is admittedly on terms of friendship with you all?” “No, I don’t”--steadily. “Nor should I care if it were. When it’s a matter of you and your safety, the question of taste doesn’t enter into the thing at all.” “My safety?” jeered Jean softly. (It was barely half an hour since Burke had inspired her with that sudden fear of him and of his compelling personality!) “Well, if not your safety, at least your happiness,” amended Blaise. “It’s very kind of you to interest yourself, but really my happiness has nothing whatever to do with Geoffrey Burke.” “Is that true?” He flashed the question at her, and there was that in his tone which set her pulses athrill, quenching the light-hearted spirit of banter that had led her to torment him. It was the note of restrained passion which she had heard before in his voice, and which had always power to move her to the depths of her being. “Perfectly true.” She faltered a little. “But”--forcing herself to a defiance that was in reality a species of self-defence--“I fail to see that it concerns you, Blaise.” “It concerns me in so far as Burke is not the sort of man that a woman can make a friend of. It’s all or nothing with him. And if you don’t intend to give him all, you’d better give him--nothing.” His glance, grave and steady, met hers, and she knew then, of a certainty, that he had witnessed the scene which had taken place in the rose garden, when Burke had held her in his arms and the flood of his passion had risen and overwhelmed her. He had witnessed that--and had misunderstood it. She was conscious of a fierce resentment against him. It mattered nothing to her that, in the light of her nonchalant answers to his questions, he was fully justified in the obvious conclusion he had drawn. She did not stop to think whether her anger was reasonable or unreasonable. She was simply furious with him for suspecting her of flirting--odious word!--with Geoffrey Burke. Well, if he chose to think thus of her, let him do so! She would not trouble to explain--to exculpate herself. She regarded him with stormy eyes.