"I am still very cross at you." Anette spoke out of a gloom in which
her face was barely distinguishable. "You took all the niceness out of
our friendship and made it seem horrid; just as though you had pulled
off my clothes; I--I haven't the same feeling about you."

His effort at honesty, at discovering the mystery of profound
disturbing needs, had been vain. Gathering Anette in his arms Lee
kissed her. She rested there for a moment; then, with her hands against
his chest, pushed him away. "I can't, now," she told him; "somehow it's
all spoiled. It seemed as though you were studying me disapprovingly.
I'm not just bad, you know."

"I don't think you are bad at all," he replied irritably; "you brought
that into it. Why, in the name of heaven, should I?"

"Fanny doesn't like me," she said at a tangent.

"Who put that in your head?"

"Fanny. She's hardly civil."

"If you mean she's jealous, she isn't."

"You hardly need to add that. Of course, I realize Fanny Randon
couldn't be jealous of me. Good Lord, no! Why should she be? No one
would give me a thought."

Anette, wholly irrational, was furious. Damn women, anyway! It was
impossible to get along with them, since they hadn't a grain of reason.