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"I'm not in the very least like that really," she assured him. "If you
knew me better you'd find that out very soon."
"I'm willing to risk it."
Flirtation for flirtation--and this conversation was becoming one--there
could be no comparison between Marchmont's and Quisante's; the one was
delightful, the other odious; the one combined charm with dignity; the
other was a mixture of cringing and presumption. May put the contrast no
less strongly than this as she yielded to the impulse of the minute and
gave the lie to Marchmont's ideal of her by her reckless acceptance of
the immediate delights he offered. The ideal would no doubt cause him to
put a great deal of meaning into her acceptance; whether such meaning
were one she would be prepared to indorse her mood did not allow her to
consider. She showed him very marked favour that evening, and in his
company contrived to forget entirely the puzzle of Quisante and his
moments, and the possible relation of those moments to the limits about
which her companion was so decisive.
At last, however, they were interrupted.


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