old love for herself was dead and buried, yet she enjoyed having an
occasional flower of speech laid on its grave.

"I really believe you are in love with her," she went on after a pause,
as he did not answer.

"Bosh!"

"But it certainly looks like it. You do nothing but talk about her."

Carron roused himself with an effort from the treadmill line of thought
that had tortured him ever since Brigit's engagement. "My dear Tony, you
are absurd. You know perfectly well that I have never loved any woman
but you. You have led me a dog's life for years; you prevented my
getting on in my career, because it amused you to have me dangling
about----"

Lady K. Oh, Gerald, will you ever forget that horrible
winter when you went to India?

Carron (_aloud_). No, Tony! (_In petto_) She _can't_
love the boy. That much is quite impossible!

Lady K. The awful cables you used to send me? Heavens, how
I cried every night, Gerry! And how horrid Kingsmead was that year!
_So_ jealous.

Carron (_aloud_). You were always such an abominable
flirt! (_In petto_) If I only knew _why_ she hates me so! God! it's
worse than hatred; it's loathing.