"Since when is it so disagreeable to you?" asked Diana.
Julius was silent, for there was nothing he could say. He wished he had said nothing at first,—it would have been much better. Diana continued.
"You and I know each other well enough to talk freely," she said. "We need not beat about the bush and say pretty things to each other, and I forgive you for being rude, because I know you very well, and am willing to sacrifice something. But I will not forgive you again if you are rude in public. There are certain things one does not permit one's self, when one is a gentleman."
"You are very good, Diana," said Batiscombe, humbly. "I am very sorry. I lost my temper."
"Naturally," she answered coolly. "You always lose your temper,—you always did,—and yet you fancy continually that you hide it. Let that go. I have forgiven you for this time, because I am the best friend you have."
"The only one," said Julius.
"Perhaps. You are well hated, I can tell you. Then treat me as a friend in future, if you please, and not as an inquisitive acquaintance who makes a point of annoying you for her own ends."
She spoke calmly, in a quiet, determined voice, without the slightest hesitation or affectation. Julius bent his head.
"I always mean to," he said.
"Now listen to me," she continued. "I came upon you this afternoon by pure accident. I do not owe you any apology for that, and you know very well that I am the last person in the world to do things in that way, by stealth. That is the reason I come to you here, at night, to tell you my mind frankly."