"Put it as crudely as you like," she cried in a sudden gust of temper. "You have taken all from me and given me nothing in return."
He made no reply. In a slightly amused manner his glance rested on her emerald necklace.
"You may look," she went on passionately. "But I want more than gifts. I want love, not just to be the creature of your passions."
"Then you want too much. There's no such thing as love between men and women. There's only passion."
"You are cruel," she moaned.
"Cruel! Merely because I refuse to be enslaved by any one woman, eaten up in mind and body and soul, as some of the men I know are? I wasn't brought up to look upon women as superior beings, and I've never met one yet to make me want to change my sentiments. They are here for my convenience and pleasure, and nothing more."
There was silence again.
Lucille sighed.
She knew she had no hold over him other than her sex, and never had had. Heroics, temper and entreaties had no effect on him whatsoever; he remained always unmoved and indifferent.
With a shrug she picked out a chocolate from a large box at her side. Then she changed the conversation.