"It would not make me better nor worse; so what difference does it make? You might make Erot a king, but he would still be Erot."
A sudden frown darkened Nemone's countenance. "What do you mean by that?" she demanded. There was a suggestion of anger in her tone.
"I mean that a title of nobility does not make a man noble, that you may call a jackal a lion; but he will still be a jackal."
"Do you not know that I am supposed to be very fond of Erot," she demanded, "or that you may drive my patience too far?"
Tarzan shrugged. "You show execrable taste."
Nemone sat up very straight. Her eyes flashed. "I should have you killed!" she cried. Tarzan said nothing. He just kept his eyes on hers. She could not tell whether or not he was laughing at her. Finally she sank back on her pillows with a gesture of resignation. "What is the use?" she demanded. "You probably would not let me get any satisfaction from killing you anyway, and by this time I should be accustomed to being affronted."
"What you are not accustomed to is hearing the truth. Everyone is afraid of you. The reason you are interested in me is because I am not. It might do you good to hear the truth more often."
"For instance?"
"I am not going to undertake the thankless job of regenerating royalty," Tarzan assured her with a laugh.
"Let us stop quarreling. Nemone forgives you."