"We are very far from any
understanding. Indeed, we are overhead in a misunderstanding
already. You misconstrue my words. I am very angry with you. I
do not think that in all my life I have ever been so angry with
anybody. But you are not to mistake the source of my anger. I
am angry with you for the great wrong you have done yourself."
"That should not be your affair," she answered him, thus flinging
back the offending phrase.
"But it is. I make it mine," he insisted.
"Then I do not give you the right. Please let me pass." She
looked him steadily in the face, and her voice was calm to coldness.
Only the heave of her bosom betrayed the agitation under which she
was labouring.
"Whether you give me the right or not, I intend to take it," he
insisted.
"You are very rude," she reproved him.
He laughed. "Even at the risk of being rude, then. I must make
myself clear to you. I would suffer anything sooner than leave
you under any misapprehension of the grounds upon which I should
have preferred to face a firing party rather than have been rescued
at the sacrifice of your good name."
"I hope," she said, with faint but cutting irony, "you do not intend
to offer me the reparation of marriage.
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