He glared at her, and she stood staring steadily back, the light of battle in her eye.
"Haidee is only a child--her heart is very tender and romantic. I could not have its first bloom rubbed off by you, Sacha--a sophisticated Frenchman who would laugh and go on your way. She is too good for that."
He breathed hard.
"So!" He muttered at last, "That is it?"
"Yes, that is it." There was a silence. Then she said gently:
"And in your heart you do not blame me, Sacha. Think if it had been your little sister, and you had seen her trying to waste her heart's first freshness foolishly, uselessly. What would you have done? I know well enough what you would have done."
"You had no right to play----" he began, but he was softened.
"Oh yes, every right. Haidee is like my little sister."
She put her left hand over the gate and laid it on the one which gripped her right.
"Come! There are no bones broken, Sacha. You know very well that you do not really care about me. This was just one of the little experiences of which you will have scores in your life; the remembrance of it may help you in others. But I have not found it uninteresting. You are a charming and attractive fellow--if I did not happen to be immune--(this was sheer guile on her part, but honey has a great healing quality in such cases). I assure you that I have found it anything but an uninteresting experience. Will you not pay me the same compliment and shake hands on it?"