"Yes—they all do it!" he repeated, mechanically.
"They don't 'love' you know!" she went on—"Love is too much of a bore. YOU would find it so!"
"I should, indeed!" he said, with sudden energy—"It would be worse than any imaginable torture!—to be 'loved' and looked after, and watched and coddled and kissed—"
"Oh, surely no woman would want to kiss you!" she exclaimed—"Never! THAT would be too much of a good thing!"
And she gave a little peal of laughter, merry as the lilt of a sky-lark in the dawn. He stared at her angrily, moved by an insensate desire to seize her and throw her down the hill like a bundle of rubbish.
"To kiss YOU," she said, "one would have to wear a lip-shield of leather! As well kiss a bunch of nettles! No, no! I have quite a nice little mouth—soft and rosy! I shouldn't like to spoil it by scratching it against yours! It's curious how all men imagine women LIKE to kiss them! They never grasp an idea of the frequent unpleasantness of the operation! Now I'm going!"
"Thank God!" he ejaculated fervently.
"And don't worry yourself"—she continued, airily—"I shall not stay long at the Plaza."
"Thank God again!" he interpolated.
"It would be too dull,—especially as I'm not shamming to be ill, like you. Besides, I have work to do!—wonderful work! and I don't believe in doing it shut up like a hermit. Humanity is my crucible! Good-night,—good-bye!"