“It isn't done. And first you're like a white rose, and next you're like a red. Will you submit?”
“Oh! shame!” Rhoda uttered.
“Because I'm not a gentleman?”
“You are not.”
“So, if I could make you a lady—eh? the lips 'd be ready in a trice. You think of being made a lady—a lady!”
His arm relaxed in the clutch of her figure.
She got herself free, and said: “We saw Mr. Blancove at the theatre with Dahlia.”
It was her way of meeting his accusation that she had cherished an ambitious feminine dream.
He, to hide a confusion that had come upon him, was righting the fallen candle.
“Now I know you can be relied on; you can defend yourself,” he said, and handed it to her, lighted. “You keep your kisses for this or that young gentleman. Quite right. You really can defend yourself. That's all I was up to. So let us hear that you forgive me. The door's open. You won't be bothered by me any more; and don't hate me overmuch.”