“I would not seek,” he answered, “to buy—your friendship with a check!”
“But it is yours already,” she cried, holding out her hands. “Give me a little kindness, Wingrave! You make me feel and seem a perfect idiot. Why, I’d rather you asked me anything that treated me like this.”
“I was under the impression,” Wingrave remarked, “that I was behaving rather well. I wonder what would really satisfy you!”
“To have you behave as you are doing, and want to behave differently,” she cried. “You are magnificent—but it is because you are indifferent. Will you kiss me, Wingrave?”
“With pleasure!” he answered.
She drew away from him quickly.
“Is it—another woman?” she asked. “The Marchioness?”
Her eagerness was almost painful. He did not answer her at once. She caught hold of his wrist and drew him towards her. Her eyes searched his face.
“The Marchioness,” he said, “is a very beautiful woman. She does not, however, affect the situation as between you and me.”
“If she dared!” Lady Ruth murmured. “Wingrave, won’t you try and be friends with me?”