"You surely cannot mean that you have ceased to care for me just for a
second of meaningless laughter?"

She swept him a scornful courtesy.

"You do these things better in your novels, Mr. Rangely, which shows
what an advantage it is to have time to think speeches over. I wouldn't
have my hero say a thing like that, if I were you. It would make him
seem like a conceited cad."

The insolence of her manner was such as no man could bear. Rangely
crimsoned to the temples. He paced across the room, while she coolly
seated herself in a great Venetian chair, and began to play with a
little jade image. He came back to her, and stood a moment as if he
could not find words.

"Why don't you go?" she asked, looking up at him as if he were a
servant sent upon an errand.

"Because," he broke out angrily, "when I go I shall not come back; and
I should like to understand this thing."

She shrugged her shoulders, and leaned back in her chair, looking him
over from head to foot.

"Why you quarrel with me is more than I know," he went on. "You've got
tired of me, I suppose, and want to amuse yourself with another man."

The red flushed in her cheek.