"You are the image of Uncle George," says she, with such wicked spite that a smile parts his lips.
"Oh! you can laugh if you like," says she, "but you are, for all that. You're worse than him," her anger growing because of that smile. "I never——"
"Never what?"
"I never met such a cross cat in my life!" says Lady Rylton, turning her back on him.
"It's well to be unique in one's own line," says he grimly.
A short laugh breaks from him. How absurd she is! A regular little spitfire; yet what a pretty one. His heart is full of sadness, yet he cannot keep back that laugh. He hardly knows how he has so much mirth left in him, but the laugh sounds through the room and drives Tita to frenzy.
"Oh, you can laugh!" cries she, turning upon him. "You can laugh when—when——" She makes a frantic little gesture that flings open the loose gown she wears, and shows once again her charming neck; words seem to fail her. "Oh! I should like to shake you," says she at last.
"Would you?" said Rylton. His laughter has come to an end. "And you.
What do you think I should like to do with you?"
He looks at her.
"Oh! I know. It is not difficult to answer," with a contemptuous glance from under the long, soft lashes, beneath which his glance sinks into insignificance. "You would like to give me away!"