"An effect that causes one to lose all discretion. I feel I would give my soul to hold you in my arms."
I told him I did not think it was at all nice or respectful of him to talk so—that I found such love revolting.
"You tell me in your sane moments I am most unsuitable to you—you try to keep away from me—and then when you get close you begin to talk this stuff! I think it is an insult!" I said, angry and disdainful. "When I arouse devotion and tenderness in some one, then I shall listen, but to you and to this—never!"
"Go on," he said. "Even in the dim light you look beautiful when cross."
"I am not cross," I answered. "Only absolutely disgusted."
By that time, thank goodness, we had got into the stream of carriages close to the opera-house. Mr. Carruthers, however, seemed hardly to notice this.
"Darling," he said, "I will try not to annoy you; but you are so fearfully provoking. I—tell you truly, no man would find it easy to keep cool with you."
"Oh, I don't know what it is, being cool, or not cool," I said, wearily. "I am tired of every one. Even as tiny a thing as Malcolm Montgomerie gets odd like this!"
He leaned back and laughed, and then said, angrily: "Impertinence! I will wring his neck!"
"Thank Heaven we have arrived!" I exclaimed, as we drove under the portico. I gave a great sigh of relief.