"Are you refusing me outright?" he demanded. "That would be only fair, you know, if I have no chance."
"Well…. I think so. That is—"
"Do you love another man?"
Coquetry flashed back. Nevertheless, she told the exact truth little as she suspected it.
"I love myself, and youth, and life, and liberty. What is a man in comparison with all that?"
"This." And before she could make another leap he had her in his arms; and under the fire of his lips and eyes she lay inert, intoxicated, her first flash of young passion completely responsive to his.
But only for a moment.
She wrenched herself away, her face livid, her eyes black with fury.
She beat his chest with her fists.
"You! You! How I hate you! To think I should have given that to you … to think that another man should have been the first to kiss me … I'm in love with another man, I tell you. Why don't you go? I hate myself and I never want to lay eyes on you again. Go! Go! Go!"