"Oh, yes, you do! You're much too clever not to understand. Come to think of it, you're much too everything—too clever, too beautiful, too charming, too everything."
"You overwhelm me," she made herself say.
"Not at all. You know your points. What I want to know is just one thing—and that's the thing you're going to tell me."
She drew her dry lips inward to moisten them.
"What do you want to know? Why do you speak to me like that? What have I done?"
"That's what you're going to tell me."
"I shall tell you nothing—while you ask in that tone."
"Won't you? How can I persuade you?" his tone caressed and stung. "What arguments can I use? Must I kiss you again?"
She drew herself up, called wildly on all her powers to resent the insult. Nothing came at her call.
"What do you want me to tell you?" she asked, and her eyes implored the mercy she would not consciously have asked.