He pulled one hand free and laid it upon her clasped ones. "You can't stand me at any price, eh?"
She shook her head again. "Are you suggesting that I should—marry you, just to get away from Major Hunt-Goring?"
"I suppose you would rather marry me than him," said Max.
She laughed faintly. Her eyes were upon his hand—that hand which she had so ruthlessly stabbed not so very long before. The red scar yet remained. For the first time she felt genuinely sorry for having inflicted it.
"But there is no question of my marrying him, is there?" she said at last. "He has never even hinted at such a thing."
"That's true," said Max grimly. "You see, he has begun to realize by this time that you are not precisely fond of him."
She shivered involuntarily. "I hate him, Max!"
"He thrives on that," observed Max drily.
"Oh, not really!" she protested. "He couldn't want to marry me against my will."
"My good child," said Max, "if you had had the bad taste to flirt with him, he would have tired of you long ago. As it is—" he paused.