"You're the hatefullest man I ever heard of!" I flung at him.
"Oh, I say! Don't speak too soon. You don't know all yet. If you don't want me to, I won't call on Charretier. Lady T. and her tuft-huntin' can go hang! And you shan't stop at the Athenée to be copped by the Duchess's friends, if you don't like. That's what I wanted to see you about. To tell you it all depends on yourself."
"How does it depend on myself?" I asked, cautiously.
"All you have to do, to get off scot free is to be a little kind to poor Bertie. You can begin by givin' him a kiss, here in the poetic and what-you-may-call-'em forest of Fontainebleau."
"I wouldn't kiss you if you were made of gold and diamonds, and I could have you melted down to spend!" I exclaimed. And as I delivered this ultimatum, I turned to run. His legs might be longer than mine, but I weighed about one-third as much as he, which was in my favour if I chose to throw dignity to the winds.
As I whisked away from him, he caught me by the dress, and I heard the gathers rip. I had to stop. I couldn't arrive at the hotel without a skirt.
"You're a cad—a cad!" I stammered.
"And you're a fool. Look here, I can lose you your job and have you sent to the prison where naughty girls go. See what I've got in my pocket."
Still grasping my frock, he scooped something out of an inner pocket of his coat, and held it for me to look at, in the hollow of his palm. I gave a little cry. It was Lady Turnour's gorgeous bursting sun.
"I nicked that off the dressin' table the other night, when you weren't looking. Has Lady T. been askin' for it?"