“But, Nouna, I am not a savage; I don’t get angry over little things. And I should never be angry with you.”
“I don’t know. You say you would not have me watched, you would trust me. Well, I would rather be watched, then I should feel safe. But if I always did just as I felt, I should some day make you angry, I know. I am not like your English girls—the girls at the school, who always know what they are going to do. Something comes up here,”—and she put her hands over her heart—“and then it mounts up there,”—joining her fingers over her head—“and says, ‘Nouna, love; Nouna, hate; Nouna, be sweet and gentle;’ or ‘Nouna, be proud and distant.’ And I go just as the little voice guides. Well, that is not English!”
“You are impulsive, darling, that’s all. If you love me truly, the little voice will always tell you to do what I wish.”
“Will it? But I am afraid. I tell you I would rather kill myself than have you look at me as you looked at the little curly-haired man to-night. Why did you hate him so?”
“When I came in he was trying to kiss you.”
“But I would not have let him.”
“No, of course not. That is because you are good and true to me, whom you love.”
“Is it? I did not know it was that. I only knew that he was small and ugly, and I did not like him.”
“No; you must not like any man but me.”
“Ah, then you had better shut me up.”