"I don't believe you have a grain of sympathy in your whole heart. It must be as hard as a stone."
"My dear Henriette, the heart has nothing to do with sympathy or any other emotion. It is just the blood pump. I have not read much physiology but...."
"Nom de Dieu, spare me your science," she cried, excitedly.
I laughed again without restraint. "We'll drop physiology, then. But I know other things, and now that I have brought you out of the tear stage, we'll talk about them if you like. I agree with you that it is most exasperating and bitterly disappointing."
Her face was a mask of bewilderment as she turned to me swiftly. "What do you mean?" The question came after a pause.
"It is so ridiculously easy. I mean what you were thinking about when the passion of tears came along. What are you going to do about it?"
I had seated myself and taken up a book, and was turning over the leaves as I put the question. She jumped up excitedly and came and stood over me, her features almost fiercely set as she stared down.
"What do you mean? You shall say what you mean. You shall."
"Not while you stand there threatening me with a sort of wild glare in your eyes. I don't think it's fair to be angry with me just because you can't do what you wish."
She stretched out her hands as if she would shake me in her exasperation. Then she laughed, a little wildly, and went back to her seat on the couch.