He turned away.

"Don't go yet, Ted. I haven't done. Listen. I was thoughtless, I was
mistaken" (Audrey was anxious to escape the imputation of a big fault by
the graceful confession of a little one), "but I'm not as bad as you
think me. You think I cared for Vincent. I didn't. I never cared a straw
about him--never. You were the first."

"Was I? Not the last though, it seems."

"Perhaps not. But I deceived myself before I deceived you."

"Well, you took me in completely, if it's any satisfaction to you. Never
mind, Audrey; you've done your best to remedy that now."

He had turned, and his hand was on the door to go, when he heard her
calling him back softly.

"Ted----" She had followed him to the door, he felt the touch of her
little gloved hand on his coat-sleeve; under the black meshes of her
veil he saw her eyes shining with tears that could not fall. He
hesitated.

"Forgive me," she whispered.

"Not till you have answered my question."

"Which question, Ted?"

"The impertinent one."

"About Vincent?"

"Yes."

Her eyes had been fixed on the ground, now they glanced up quickly.

"Did Vincent tell you I was engaged to him?"

"No."

Her eyelids drooped again; then, urged to desperation by her own
cowardice, she raised them and looked in his face to answer. And as she
looked, she saw for the first time how changed it was. Its bloom was
gone, the lines were set and hard: Ted looked years older than his age.

"Don't believe him if he ever says so. I am not engaged to him, and I
never was."

"Thanks. That was all I wanted to know."

He turned on his heel and left her. He knew that she had lied.

He left her in a state of vague consternation. She had been prepared for
an outburst of feeling on Ted's part, in which case she would have
remained mistress of the field without loss of dignity. As it had
happened, the victory was certainly not with her. This was contrary to
all her expectations. She had looked for protestations, emotions--in
short, a scene; but not for cold, dispassionate cross-examination. It
was so unlike Ted--Ted, who was always giving himself away; it was more
the sort of thing she could have fancied Wyndham saying under the same
circumstances. She had seen something of this impersonal manner once or
twice before, in those rare moments when they had discussed some
picture, or Ted had talked to her about his work or Katherine's. It had
annoyed her then; she thought it showed a want o