"Take it, by all means," she said. "It's not loaded. I only needed it for the maid. Tell me, Winnie, have you got her on your string, too? The maid made or undone, as they used to say."
"Virginia," I said firmly, "I told you earlier this morning that we were through. There's nothing more to be said about it. It's finished, done, kaput! All's well that ends."
She laughed again, and looked at me closely. In spite of myself, I began pulling nervously at the lobe of my left ear, a habit of mine when confused which has always irritated my Dorothy.
"There!" Virginia said finally, "that's it!"
Her voice had a note of finality with a touch of total triumph that I found disturbing.
"Well, have you anything to say?" I asked.
"Have you anything to say?"
"I've already said it, Virginia. Nice as you are and beautiful as you are, we're washed up. It won't work and we both know it. So why not shake hands and quit friends?"
She took my proffered hand in hers but, instead of shaking it, examined it carefully.
"Very clever," she murmured. "You've even got that little mole at the base of your thumb."