"Do you insinuate that marrying my aunt would make him miserable?" Dick wanted to know.
"I don't insinuate. I assert," said I. And by that time I was in such a temper, and my nerves had so gone to bits that I didn't know, and cared less, what I was saying. I went on and told Dick exactly what I thought of Mrs. Senter, and that for a loyal, true sort of man like Sir Lionel it would be better to die at once than have her for his wife—for that would be death, too, only slow and lingering. Dick was white with fury, but I hardly noticed then, for I was seeing red.
"If you call her deceitful, what are you?" he sputtered.
"I'm neither here nor there," said I.
"Certainly you won't be here long, or where Pendragon is," said he. "I wouldn't marry you now, if you'd have me. You're nothing more or less than an adventuress."
"And you're a blackmailer," I mentioned, because I'd gone back to primitive passions, like Eve's, or a Brittany fishwife's.
"That's a lie," he answered politely, "because blackmailers only threaten; I'm going to perform. It's all up with you."
"I don't care for myself," said I. But, as you know, that was only partly true.
Then for a minute Dick seemed to repent. "No good losing our tempers like this," he said. "Take back your insults to my aunt, who is the best pal I ever had—though that's not saying much—and speak a good word for her to Sir Lionel, whom she really loves, and I'll let you off."
"I'd have my tongue cut out first," I answered.