“So Disraeli has told me. Did you come to tell me that, also?”
She coloured, but met his angry glance without flinching. “Now,” she thought, “he is going to show temper.”
“I came to tell you that, also,” she repeated. “Pensée is opposed to the whole scheme. Mrs. Parflete stamped her very beautiful foot, and said, ‘I go.’ Do you approve?”
“I am to meet Castrillon to-night at the Prince d'Alchingen's,” he answered, evading her question.
“How you hate him!”
“What makes you think so?”
“I know your face. I never saw any love there for anybody, but just then there was a look of hate.”
“You are quite right. I do hate him.”
“You are actually trembling at the mention of his name. Then you have feelings, after all.” She clapped her hands, and leaving her chair walked toward him.
“Never hate me, will you?” she said, touching his arm. “Promise me that you will never hate me. Like me as much as you can.”