“Very well, then, go!” said Stella, turning her back on him, and staring blindly out of the window. “I don't c-care!”
The door opened, and then shut again. Stella gave a despairing sob, and wept silently into her handkerchief.
“You'd better have mine, darling: it's larger,” said Randall's soft voice just behind her.
Stella jumped, and quavered: “S-snake! I loathe and detest you!”
“I know you do,” said Randall, taking her in his arms, and quite firmly possessing himself of her handkerchief.
“You'll be sorry if I cry all over your beautiful c—coat!” said Stella from his shoulder.
“Forget my beautiful coat!” said Randall.
Stella groped for his handkerchief. He gave it her, and she carefully dried her eyes with it. “If I do marry you it won't be because I'm in love with you, because of course I'm not!” she said.
“Very well, you can marry me for my money,” replied Randall equably.
Stella, having finished with it, savagely thrust his handkerchief back into his breast-pocket. “You have the foulest tongue of anyone I ever met in all my life!” she said with conviction. “If I didn't want to get away from this place I wouldn't think of marrying you for a moment! And if I do marry you it'll probably be as bad as living here, or even worse,” she added vindictively.