Her eyes had something new to say, something which, though it
failed to stir his blood, made him vaguely uncomfortable.
Nevertheless, he answered her without hesitation.
"Yes," he replied, "I could forget it. I will promise to forget
it."
It was unaccountable, but he almost fancied that he saw this new
thing pass from her face, leaving her pale and tremulous. She
looked away again and busied herself with the tea-caddy, but the
fingers which held the spoon were shaking a little.
"Oh, I suppose I could forget," she said, "but it would be very
difficult for either of us to behave as though it had never
happened. Besides, it really was an impossible situation, you
know," she went on, looking down into the tea-caddy. "It is much
better for me to be here with Annie. You can come and see me now
and then and we can still be very good friends."
Tavernake was annoyed. He said nothing, and Beatrice, glancing
up, laughed at his gloomy expression.
"You certainly are," she declared, "the most impossible, the most
primitive person I ever met. London isn't Arcadia, you know, and
you are not my brother. Besides, you were such an autocrat. You
didn't even like my going out to supper with Mr. Grier."
"I hate the fellow!" Tavernake admitted. "Are you seeing much of
him?"
"He took us all out to supper last night," she replied. "I
thought it was very kind of him to ask me."
"Kind, indeed! Does he want to marry you?" Tavernake demanded.
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