myself.

"What is it you would like to say?" I called over to him. He did
not speak. "Would you tell me that I am a silly child for
pouting?" No reply; he struck a match. "Or would you preach a
nice little sermon about people--about women--loving their
husbands?"

He grunted savagely under his breath.

"Be quite honest," I pursued relentlessly. "Say that we are a lot
of barbarians, say that because my--because Jimmy treats me
outrageously--oh, he does; any one can see that--and because I
loathe him--and any one can tell that--why don't you say you are
shocked to the depths?" I was a little shocked myself by that
time, but I couldn't stop, having started.

He came over to me, white-faced and towering, and he had the
audacity to grip my arm and stand me on my feet, like a bad
child--which I was, I dare say.

"Don't!" he said in a husky, very pained voice. "You are only
talking; you don't mean it. It isn't YOU. You know you care, or
else why are you crying up here? And don't do it again, DON'T DO
IT AGAIN--or I will--"

"You will--what?"

"Make a fool of myself, as I have now," he finished grimly. And
then he stalked away and left me there alone, completely