"Of burning the cereal?"

"Of being so infernally irresponsible about it."

"Oh, that's the trouble, is it?" she said. "That I did not seem to care?
Well, I assure you that I don't like burnt food any better than you do,
but I have some self-control. I wouldn't spoil a whole evening just
because--" A sudden inspiration came to her. Her voice failed her, and
she hid her face in her pocket handkerchief.

Riatt leant back in his chair and looked at her, looked at least at the
back of her long neck, and the twist of her golden hair and the
occasional heave of her shoulders.

The strange and the humiliating thing was that she had just as much
effect upon him when he quite obviously knew that she was insincere.

"Why," he said gently, "are you crying? Or perhaps I ought to say, why
are you pretending to cry?"

She paid no attention to the latter part of his question.

"You're so unkind," she said, careful not to overdo a sob. "You don't
seem to understand what a terrible situation this is for me."

"In what way is it terrible?"

"Don't you know that a story like this clings to a girl as long as she
lives? That among the people I know there will always be gossip--"