"I'll tell you what it is: you're afraid to."
"No."
"Yes, you are: you're afraid of me. With all your airs and your dignity, you're afraid to be alone with me for a moment."
"I'm not afraid."
"You are afraid. You're shaking in your shoes with fear. You received me with a fine speech which you rehearsed in advance. Now that you've delivered your speech ... it's over and you're frightened."
"I am not frightened."
"Then come with me, my plucky authoress of The Social Position of the What's-her-name! I promise, I swear that I shall be calm and tell you calmly what I have to say to you; and I give you my word of honour not to hit you ... Which room shall we go to?... Do you refuse? Listen to me: if you don't come with me, it's not finished yet. If you do, perhaps it will be finished ... and you will never see me again."
"What can you have to say to me?"
"Come."
She yielded because of his voice, not because of his words: