“I can’t help staring,” he answered, “when I mean what I say.” He pressed his lips together and scowled, and shook her foot playfully. There was an exhilarating pleasure in startling and mastering her by directness. It was like peeling the bark off a stick. The thin layers of affectation came off easily and cleanly, leaving bare the white sappy smoothness of her innocent sensuality.
“I do mean what I say,” he added. “Why should we beat about the bush? I asked you to come to-day because I wanted you. You came because you knew I wanted you.”
“You asked me to tea.”
“All right. And you’ll stay to dinner. People have made love to you before.”
“Well, no . . . yes. . . . Not like . . .”
“Don’t tell lies,” he said. “You saw me at the station long before I saw you, and you wanted me to see you. That was why you stayed at the booking-office.”
“You were with such a pretty boy,” she said.
“Boy! You’re not old enough to care for pretty boys.”
“But he was pretty.”