"You are," said Maurice with intention. To Jenny, for the first time, he seemed to be criticising her.
"Thanks," she said, as, with a shrug of the shoulder and curl of the lip, she walked out of the studio, coldly hostile.
The rage was too deep to prevent her from arranging her hair with deliberation. Nor did she fumble over a single hook in securing the skirt of ordinary life. Soon Maurice was tapping at the door, but she could not answer him.
"Jenny," he called, "I've come to say I'm a pig."
Still she did not answer; but, when she was perfectly ready, flung open the door and said tonelessly:
"Please let me pass."
Her eyes, resentful, their luster fled, were dull as lapis lazuli. Her lips were no longer visible.
"You mustn't go away like this. Jenny, we sha'n't see one another for a fortnight or more. Don't let's part bad friends."
"Please let me pass."
He stood aside, outfaced by such determination, and Jenny, with downcast eyes intent upon the buttoning of her glove, passed him carelessly.