"I beg pardon," he interrupted. "I was not done. Is it, then, proof of a want of love that I hurt myself to save you from a foolish thing you will not be willing to do when you come to think of it, and of which you would be ashamed if you did it thoughtlessly?"
"Hurt yourself!" she returned scornfully. "It may hurt you: I do not know. But you cannot wonder if I find it a little hard to believe. But you do not seem to consider whether it hurts me, or not."
"Why should it hurt you to do me a favor, and exchange costumes?"
"The fact that you know what costume I have hurts me. I do not enjoy finding I have been deceived in my friends."
"The faith you have in your friends cannot be very robust to be so easily shaken."
"Thank you again. I am unfortunately accustomed to believe my senses."
"As you please," he said coldly, holding open the gate for her to enter. "But you have not answered my question."
"What question?"
"Will you do me the favor of exchanging dresses with me?"