Toward Lanyard she bore herself precisely as though nothing had
happened to disturb the even adjustment of their personal relations;
or, perhaps, as if she considered everything had happened, so that
their rapport had become absolute; at all events, with a pleasing
absence of constraint. He really couldn't make her out. Sometimes he
thought she wished him to believe she was not as other women and could
make rational allowance for his poor response to her naive overtures.
But that seemed so abnormal, he felt forced to fall back on the theory
that her declaration had been nothing more than a minor gambit in
whatever game she was playing, and that consequently she bore no malice
because of its failure. No matter which explanation was the true one,
no matter which keyed her temper toward him, Lanyard found himself
liking the woman better, not as a woman but as another human being,
than he had ever thought to. Say what you liked, in this humour she was
charming.
But he never for an instant imagined she was meekly accepting defeat at
his hands instead of biding her time to resume the attack from a new
quarter.
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