"I—the fact is"—he broke forth, desperately, "I—I do not understand you."
"That is not at all singular," she replied. "You have often said so before."
He began to lose his temper and to walk about the room.
"You have often chosen to seem incomprehensible," he said, "but this is the most extraordinary thing you have done yet. You—you must know that it looks very bad—that people are discussing you openly—you of all women!"
Suddenly he wheeled about and stopped, staring at her with more uncertainty and bewilderment than ever.
"I ought to know you better," he said, "I do know you better than to think you capable of any weakness of—of that kind. You are not capable of it. You are too proud and too fond of yourself, and yet"——
"And yet what?" she demanded, in a peculiar, low voice.
He faltered visibly.
"And yet you are permitting yourself to—to be talked over and—misunderstood."