"There is no reason, only I was thinking----" He paused.
"Eh, you think--of what?"
"Oh, something which does not concern you, Lola."
"All that is of you is to me," she responded. "I love you."
"Lola, be reasonable."
"Pschutt! I mock myself of your reason," she cried, snapping her fingers and speaking in quite a French way. "I leave reasons to your chilly English ladies. I--eh, but you know I am of the South. To you--to you, my adored preserver, do I give myself."
George grew angry. "If you talk like this, Lola, I shall go away."
"Ah, then good-night to you. Let it be adieu and never come back."
"Not at all. Be a reasonable woman and sit down. Give me some more wine and a cigarette. I want to ask you a question."
Lola poured out the wine and tossed him a cigarette, but she refused to sit down or to compose herself. In a flaming temper she whirled about the room, talking all the time. "Ah, yes, but it is so always! I am a fool to love you, cold one--pig of an Englishman."