“You are a master of reason, Phil, we know,” said he, with a sneer; “the which, if I doubted, would not your proviso convince me? So, I have openly confessed my hand—to beguile you to an infatuation that should leave the coast clear for me—me—to play the villain?”
“I never said so.”
“O! did you not?”
“I said specifically the thing was unthinkable.”
“Showing you had thought of it.”
“George, don’t torture me. You said, you know, it was a pity I was not more really touched.”
“I say it again.”
“Why, in God’s name?”
“So your attitude would be more convincing. As it is, the hollow pretence of it would not deceive a child.”
“Is that all you meant? Forgive my words to you—I am so torn and harassed—and you are my only friend, I think. I’ll try to be more natural with the wretch; more—more convincing, damn her! Yet I drove it home with Kate the other night; you saw how she left the room?”