Something in the polite impersonality of her voice gave me a vague
resentment. She had moved nearer, and yet I could not meet her glance.

"I am sorry" she said, and paused expectantly, but I could only stare at
the floor in silence.

"Believe me, I am sorry."

It might have been different if I had detected the slightest contrition,
but instead I seemed only to afford her mild! amusement.

"There is no need to be sorry," I replied.

"Ah, but there is!" she said quickly, "Last night you were very kind.
Last night you tried to help me."

I seemed to see her again, standing pale and troubled, while my
father watched her, coldly appraising, and Brutus grinned at her
across the room.

"Mademoiselle" I began, "Anything that I did last night--"

"Was quite unnecessary," she said, "And very foolish."

I drew a sharp breath. The bit of gallantry I had on my mind to speak
seemed weak and useless now.

"Mademoiselle is mistaken" I lied smoothly, "Nothing that I did last
night was on her account."