"You never look prettier than when you're trying to say nasty things."
"I'll stop, or in another moment you'll be offering to kiss me."
"Should you object?"
"Hardly worth while. It would mean nothing at all to either of us. Still—I'm not a poacher."
"You don't seem to me to be able to take a joke either." Harry's voice sounded annoyed. "But we won't quarrel. I've been through one of my fits of the blues, Doris. Don't be hard on a fellow."
"It would be so much better for you if people could be hard on you, Harry. Still you'll have to pay for it somehow. We all have to pay for being what we are—somehow. Perhaps you won't know you're paying—you'll call it by some other name; perhaps you won't care. But you'll have to pay somehow."
The Nun made a queer figure of a moralist; she was really far too pretty. But her words got home to Harry—the new, the recovered, Harry.
"I have paid," he said. "Oh yes, you don't believe it, but I have! The bill's paid, and receipted. I'm starting fair now. But you never did do me justice."
"I've always done justice to what you care most about—Harry the Irresistible!"
"Oh, stop that rot!" he implored. "I'm serious, you know, Doris."