“Yes—a quarrel in which no one else counts. I know. But first let me explain. She did hurt me. But I found consolation.”
“In whom?” she asked sharply.
“Elva Macklin.”
“That queer egotistic little theatre-waif! Felix!”
“Say what you like—I’m not ashamed of it.”
“You couldn’t love her!”
“No—I never pretended to. Nor she.”
“I’m ashamed for you, Felix, if you’re not!”
“Be ashamed, then. I can’t be. I’ve tried.”
“Why try?”