He regretted— more deeply than he could say—the occurrence of this evening. She did not forge a note. . ” “Perhaps not,” she answered. The youth produced a crumpled-up card from his waistcoat pocket. She backed away, amazed as the thing buzzed loudly in the center of the room. And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left.
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