"So are fools," he cried, with a vehemence approaching hers.
She looked at him, surprised. He went on:
"I hate fools, and much, much as I think of you and much as you will always be to me, I can't help telling you what a fool you've been."
"Not so loud," urged Mavis. They had now reached the corner of much-frequented Lupus Street, where the man's emphatic voice would attract attention.
"I'll say what I please. And if I choose to tell you I think you a precious fool, nothing on earth shall stop me."
"That's right: insult me," remarked Mavis, who was secretly pleased at his unrestrained anger.
"'Insult' be hanged! You're an arrant, downright fool! You'd only to say the word to have been my wife."
"What an honour!" laughed Mavis, saying the first words which came into her head. The next moment she would have given much to have been able to recall them.
"For me," said Windebank gravely. "And I know I'd have made you happy."
"I believe you would," admitted Mavis, wishing to atone for her thoughtless remark.