"What!" says Marmaduke, in a low tone, flushing.
"I could have been married, had I so chosen," I repeat, with much gusto. "Why do you look so surprised? I was free, was I not? There was no reason, then, why I should not listen to any man's proposal."
"What do you mean, Phyllis?" sternly.
"Just what I say. A friend of ours who is aware of all the circumstances of our case, came here one day and made me a handsome offer of his hand and what he is pleased to term his heart."
"Did Gore come down here to see you?"
"Not so much for that as to ask me to marry him."
"The scoundrel!" says 'Duke, through his closed teeth.
"Why should you call him that? On the contrary, there was something generous in his wish to bestow his name upon a woman situated as I was. (No, no, Fifine, you must not lick me. Kiss me if you will, but keep your little tongue in its proper place.) Few men would have done it, I fancy. At all events, it convinced me of the truth and sincerity of his affection for me."
"If you saw so many admirable points in his character why did you let such a valuable chance of securing them go by?" he asks, bitterly. He is white with anger by this time. I see his emotion, but, being fiendishly inclined at the moment, know no remorse.
"One does do a foolish thing now and again," I reply, calmly, curling Fifine's silky locks the wrong way, to her infinite disgust. "Afterwards, when it is too late, one repents."