He was standing stiff and upright.

His face was stern and composed; it might have been a stone mask.
"What excuse am I to make ?" he asked.
Her eyes widened.

The question was utterly unexpected.
"Why, the truth--of course," she said.

"Say that I have been upset by the news, that--that--I hadn't the heart--I couldn't--Eustace,"-- appealing suddenly, a tremor of indignation in her voice--"you don't seem to realise that he is one of my greatest friends.

Don't you understand ?" "Yes," he said--"yes, I understand!" And she marvelled at the coldness--the deadly, concentrated coldness--of his voice.
"All the same," he went on, "I think you must make an effort to accompany me to the Bentleys' to-night.