"That's grateful," said George, quietly, and she was at his feet.
"Ah, but no! I am a bad womans. I am entirely all wicked. You are an angel of the good God. Dearest--my own----" She stretched adoring hands, and her eyes glittered like stars.
George reasoned with her. "Lola, do you wish me to be pleased with you?"
"Assuredly, and why not?"
"Then sit down in your chair like a Christian and talk sensibly."
She sat down, or rather flung herself into the chair with a whirl of scarlet draperies. "Decidedly I am a Christian. I go to mass, I confess--yes, I confess to the priest how I love you."
"Do you really love me, Lola? I was told that you wished me harm."
She started from her chair with a passionate gesture.
"Who says it is liars of the worst. Tell me who speak, that I may tear and scratch."
"No! no! I don't want a scandal."