"No doubt," says Margaret, in a low tone.
Is he not making a mistake now—a dreadful one?
"And, for the matter of that, so can you," says Tita audaciously, but so lovingly that no one could be angry with her.
"Don't waste time over me," says Margaret, growing very red, but laughing. "Come back to your naughty little self. Now what are you going to do about this, Tita?"
"Do?"
"Yes. Couldn't you go down and say something pretty to Maurice?"
"Go down—to Maurice? Go and beg his pardon. Is that what you mean? No, thank you!"
"But, my dear, he is your husband?"
"Is that all?" Tita tilts her chin airily. "One would think I was his daughter, the way you speak, or his slave! No. I shan't apologize to him, Margaret, is that is what you mean. I'm hanged if I do!"
"Tita—my dear!" Margaret looks shocked. "I don't think you ought to use such expressions. You make me very unhappy when you do."