“Naturally,” I said, with a somewhat unsteady laugh. A rush of my ruling feeling—propriety and decent reserve—tied my tongue, and I could not say, “Not all—not always.”
He, however, snapped, as it were, at my remark or admission, and chose to take it as if it were in the deepest earnest; for he said, quickly, decisively, and, as I thought, with a kind of exultation:
“Ah, then I will be disagreeable to you.”
This remark, and the tone in which it was uttered, came upon me with a shock which I can not express. He would be disagreeable to me because I hated those who were disagreeable to me, ergo, he wished me to hate him. But why? What was the meaning of the whole extraordinary proceeding?
“Why?” I asked, mechanically, and asked nothing more.
“Because then you will hate me, unless you have the good sense to do so already.”
“Why? What effect will my hatred have upon you?”
“None. Not a jot. Gar keine. But I wish you to hate me, nevertheless.”
“So you have begun to be disagreeable to me by pulling me out of the water, lending me your coat, and giving me your arm all along this hard, lonely road,” said I, composedly.
He laughed.