“You were prejudiced. I’ve appealed—to a higher tribunal—your sense of justice.”
“I know no law but my own instinct.”
“You are not true to your own instincts then, or they are not true to you.”
It was sophistry, of course, but she was a trifle startled at the accuracy of his deduction, for she realized that it was her judgment only that rejected him and that her instincts advised her of the pleasure she took in his company. Her instincts then being unreliable, she followed her judgment blindly, uncomfortably conscious that she did it against her will, and angry with herself that it was so.
“I only know, Mr. Gallatin,” she said coldly, “that both judgment and instinct warn me against you. Whatever there is left in you of honor—of decency, must surely respond to my distaste for this intrusion.”
“If I admit that I’m neither honorable nor decent, will you give me the credit for speaking the truth?” he asked slowly.
“With reference to what?” scornfully.
“To this story they’re telling.”
“You brought it here, of course.”
“Will you believe me if I say that I didn’t?”