“I'm not! I mean, it isn't only that! Oh, Randall, don't be such a vile beast!”
“I don't think much of that,” he said critically. “Amiable snake was far better.”
Stella hunted for her handkerchief, and said, sniffing: “Yes, I've no doubt you'll throw that up at me for the rest of my life. I can't imagine what possessed you to propose to me.”
“Well, that will give you something to puzzle over any time you can't sleep,” said Randall.
“You know perfectly well you don't really want to marry me!”
An expression of weary boredom descended on to Randall's face. He leaned his shoulders against the door, and said: “Do I have to make a reply to that utterly fatuous remark?”
“You think I'm fatuous, and stupid, and haven't any taste, and then you expect me to believe you want to marry me! It doesn't make sense! There's no point in discussing it, even!”
“You may have noticed,” drawled Randall, “that I am making no attempt to discuss it.”
Stella threw him a goaded look. “I'm perfectly willing to be friends with you —”
“Yes, I've no doubt,” said Randall, “but I am not in the least willing to be friends with you.”