"O Philidor!" she cried. "You look just as you did on the night when I slipped down through the pergola."
"Hermia!" He rose and approached her. "I forbid you."
She retreated slowly, brandishing the blossom beneath his nose.
"Without—er—the face powder!"
"You have no right to speak of that."
"Oh, haven't I? You've just given it to me."
"How?"
"By proving to me that I wasn't mistaken in you. O Philidor, did you propose to her, too, from purely philanthropic—"
"Stop!" He seized her by both wrists and held her straight in front of him, while he looked squarely into her eyes. "You shall not speak—"
"Or was it because she 'needed' you, Philidor, as I do?"