He once or twice hinted that there WAS a girl--the "nice English girl" that I had chaffed him about.

I had an idea that it was his way of putting pressure on me.
The first time was the evening that I dined alone with him at the Exhibition.

Heavens! I grow hot this moment thinking that he may have supposed I was in the HABIT of dining alone with men in French restaurants at popular Exhibitions.

I don't know why I did for this man what I'd never done for any other, Partly, I fancy, because it never dawned upon me that he could misunderstand me.

Rosamond says I idealised him too much, and that he's just the ordinary man and not the tiniest bit of the Bayard I imagined him.