"What strange things women are!" she cried.
His eyes came round to her, and she felt a coldness in them like the green gleam of ice.
"Out here, you see," he said quietly, "women are still as fond of making men as of making fools of them."
"Why do you say that?" she asked sharply.
"I could think of nothing better," he replied.
"Why did you say it to me?" she persisted.
"To whom else could I have said it?" he enquired blandly.
The blaze of anger seemed to fill her eyes with a floating sparkle of fresh colours, and her lips closed tightly, as though to repress a desire to bite him. Then she met his glance and laughed.
"I wonder why you dislike me so," she said.
"I don't dislike you," he replied.