A sob rose in her throat. “I hate you,” she said hotly.
“That you bestow feeling of any sort, to such degree, is flattering,” said he nastily.
“You’re very rude.”
“It puts us on a sort of equality, and establishes me in my own self-respect, so to speak, to have face to be rude to une grande dame—”
“You’re not honest, and you know it, and it’s hurting you while you’re doing it.”
“Just so,” said William, after the fashion of his father. “Where are you going?”
“To the house.”
“Come back.”
“I won’t. I’ve said what I had to say.”
He came after her. “And now you shall listen.” They stood and looked at each other. Her eyes measured him with some scorn, his met the look squarely. “I care for you as the only thing worth while in life,” he said.