"I don't ask you what it was—but if it was?" she persisted.
"Something of that sort," he admitted—"though the—ostensible dispute was over the cut of Porshinger's coat, as I recall it. Your name was not mentioned."
"But they understood?"
"It seems so."
"Tell me about it, Montague," she begged—"the fight and all."
"It doesn't tell well," he objected.
"Tell it anyway!"
"It was just a scrap between us, nothing more."
"But I want to hear it—you did it for me, so why shouldn't you tell me?"
He looked down into the soft eyes upturned to him—and yielded.