'Yes! Those proofs you have been talking of lately—your publishers—anything will do!'
Margaret was thoroughly angry with him and with herself by this time, and he was deeply hurt, and they turned and walked stiffly, with their noses in the air, as if they never meant to speak to each other again.
'It's very odd!' Margaret observed at last, as if she had made a discovery.
'What is very odd?'
'I never liked you as much as I did a quarter of an hour ago, and I never disliked you as much as I do now! Do you understand that?'
'Yes. You make it very clear. I never heard any thing put more plainly.'
'I'm glad of that. But it's very funny. I detest you just now, and yet, if you go away at once, I know I shall be sorry. On the whole, do you know?—you had better not leave to-night.'
Lushington turned sharply on her.
'Are you playing with me?' he asked, in an angry tone.
'No,' she answered with exasperating coolness, 'I don't think I am. Only, you are two people, you see. It confuses me. You are Mr. Lushington, and then, the next minute, you're—Tom. I hate Mr. Lushington. I believe I always did. I wish I might never see him again.'