'Are you quite sure of yourself, sweetheart?' he asked softly.

'Of what?'

'That you really love me. Do you know--'

Before he could finish the question Hilda was looking into his face,
with an expression he had never seen before. He stopped short,
surprised at the effect of his own words. Hilda was very angry, perhaps
for the first time in her whole life. The brightness of her eyes almost
startled him, and there was a slight contraction of the brows that gave
her features a look of amazing power. Greif even fancied that, for
once, her cheek was a shade paler than usual.

'You do not know what you say,' she answered very slowly.

'Darling--you have misunderstood me!' exclaimed Greif in distress. 'I
did not mean to say--'

'You asked me if I were sure that I really loved you,' said Hilda very
gravely. 'You must be mad, but those were your words.'

'Hear me, sweetheart! I only asked because--you see, you are so
different from other women! How can I explain!'

'So you have had experience of others!' She spoke coldly and her voice
had an incisive ring in it that wounded him as a knife. He was too
inexperienced to know what to do, and he instinctively assumed that
look of injured superiority which it is the peculiar privilege of women