"You have never thought of such a thing perhaps?" he suggested.
She smiled a woman's pitying smile.
"Of course I have thought of it."
"Then you have not yet met the man to whom you would care to entrust
yourself?" he asked.
She took fire at this. It was an act of presumption not to be borne.
"Even if I had," she said, with burning cheeks, "I do not think I should
make Lord Ronald Prior my confidant."
"No?" he said. "Yet you might do worse."
Her eyes shot scorn.
"Can a man be worse than inept?" she asked.
"Yes," he answered. "Since you ask me, I think he can--a good deal
worse."
"I detest colourless people!" she broke in vehemently.
He smiled.
"In fact, you prefer black sheep to grey sheep. A good many women do.
But it doesn't follow that the preference is a wise one."
The colour faded suddenly from her face. Did he know how ghastly a
failure her first marriage had been? Most people knew. Could it be to
this that he was referring? The bare suspicion made her wince.
"That," she said icily, "is no one's affair but my own. I am not wholly
ignorant of the ways of the world. And I know whom I can trust."
"You trust me, for instance?" said Lord Ronald.
She looked him up and down witheringly.
"I should say you are quite the most harmless man I know."
"And you don't like me in consequence," he drawled, meeting the look
with eyes so intent that, half-startled, she lowered her own.
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