“I wouldn’t have gone, so there!” she said. “What would you have done then?”
“I should have turned you out.”
“Oh! Would you? Filthy brute! If I’m good enough for one thing I’m good enough for another. Do you hear that, Logan? He would have turned me out!”
“You leave Kühler alone,” said Logan. “You’ll never understand him, if you try for a thousand years.”
“Turned me out?” muttered Oliver. “Heuh! I like that. He’d turn me out and get another girl in! I’ll not have any of those tricks from you, Logan.”
“You can talk about them when I begin them,” he replied.
She turned from Mendel to Thompson and soon had him soft in her snares.
“She would like to do that with me,” thought Mendel, “and she hates me because she knows she cannot.”
They returned to Paris by bus all sleepy and a little drunk. Oliver leaned her head on Logan’s shoulder and dozed, smiling to herself, while Thompson, sitting by her side, fingered her sleeve.
They were carried far beyond the point where they should have descended, and finding themselves on the boulevards, they woke up to the liveliness of the Parisian night, and Oliver refused to go home.