“No, you don’t.” Priscilla’s bosom heaved, and tears were in her eyes.
“Yes, I do.”
“You don’t like me.”
“I do.”
“You don’t think I’m pretty.”
She had removed her things now, revealing the natural gracefulness of her figure.
“Oh, Priscilla!” said Matt, looking at her. “Why, I’d give anything if I could—” He paused, timidly.
“Well, why can’t you?” interrupted Priscilla, her face very close to his.
“I’m not good enough yet. And the light’s failing.”
“Why! What do you want of the light?”