“Sure, you’re so hot, I’m afraid to tell you,” she said.
He broke away, positively dancing, took a rageful turn or two, and came back relatively reasonable.
“Now, Mrs. Davis,” he said; “will you be so good as to acquaint me all—all about this visit? Come, let us kiss and be friends.”
He advanced towards her, with hands extended and a twisted smile, meant to be ingratiatory, on his lips; but she backed before him.
“No, sure,” she said. “That would be friendship at too high a price. What does it matter to you who visited her? Aren’t you ready to throw her over, stock and block, for me?”
“Yes, yes. Only—h’m!—’tis a question of justification, don’t you see—of proof—damn it!—of her guilt.”
“You won’t want to kiss me, now?”
“No; on my word.”
“And you won’t call the gentlemen out to answer for their misbehaviour?”
“Curse me, no!”