“You might wait till you’re invited.”
“Well, invite me—quick!”
“Never.”
“Never?”
“Never, never, never,” she asseverated. “A man who’s forgotten me as you have!”
“But if I’ve only met you once at a masked ball........”
“Can’t you be brought to realise that every time you mistake me for that woman of the masked ball you turn the dagger in the wound?” she demanded.
“But if you won’t invite me to call upon you, how and when am I to see you again?”
“I haven’t an idea,” she answered, cheerfully. “I must go now. Good bye.” She rose.
“One moment,” he interposed. “Before you go will you allow me to look at the palm of your left hand?”