“But,” said I, “you are not the same woman that you were.”
“Indeed, Sir Oracle,” she answered: “and by what necromancy do you know?”
“By none. I think you are sorry now—I hope you are—for what—”
She interrupted me indignantly. “You go too far. You are almost—unbearable. You said once that the matter should be buried, and yet here you work for an opportunity, Heaven knows why, to place me at a disadvantage!”
“Pardon me,” I answered; “I said that I would never bring up those wretched scenes unless there was cause. There is cause.”
She got to her feet. “What cause—what possible cause can there be?”
I met her eye firmly. “I am bound to stand by my friend,” I said. “I can and I will stand by him.”
“If it is a game of drawn swords, beware!” she retorted. “You speak to me as if I were a common adventuress. You mistake me, and forget that you—of all men—have little margin of high morality on which to speculate.”
“No, I do not forget that,” I said, “nor do I think of you as an adventuress. But I am sure you hold a power over my friend, and—”
She stopped me. “Not one word more on the subject. You are not to suppose this or that. Be wise do not irritate and annoy a woman like me. It were better to please me than to preach to me.”