“No, thank you,” she said. “I’ve done damage enough already.”
“Martin,” murmured Angèle, “she is furious because I said you kissed me.”
This direct attack was a crude blunder. Mischievous and utterly unscrupulous though the girl was, she could not measure this boy’s real strength of character. The great man is not daunted by great difficulties—he grapples with them; and Martin had in him the material of greatness. He felt at once that he must now choose irrevocably between the two girls, with a most unpromising chance of ever again recovering lost ground with one of them. He did not hesitate an instant.
“Did you say that?” he demanded sternly.
“Ma foi! Isn’t it true?”
“The truth may be an insult. You had no right to thrust your schemes into Elsie’s knowledge.”
“My schemes, you—you pig. I spit at you. Isn’t it true?”
“Yes—unfortunately. I shall regret it always.”
Angèle nearly flew at him with her nails. But she contrived to laugh airily.
“Eh bien, mon cher Martin! There will come another time. I shall remember.”