But I shook my head.
“I have not the slightest inclination to write plays at the present moment, nor to dictate them.” And I sat down on the steps. After a minute’s hesitation she sat down too.
“I’ve hit on another plan,” she suggested.
“What is it?”
“Let us quarrel.”
“You may begin; if it seems worth while I will join you.”
She got up without speaking, and passing behind me came and sat down by my side.
I passed no remark, neither did I move. She waited for a little while, then very quietly she laid her left hand on mine—and there certainly was cause enough for dispute, since on her middle finger shone my own ring—the one with which I had sacrificed everything except existence. I stared at it in surprise and displeasure and then at her.
“Who gave you that?”
“I think I must have stolen it,” she answered, and still she left her hand in mine. Then as quietly as I could I removed her hand and got up. She rose also, and into her eyes had flashed all that anger which I had occasionally seen gleam in the eyes of Plucritus.