"Of course, my dear young lady"—he perfectly understood the situation—"I will tell your friend the facts of our acquaintance. That's what you want me to do, isn't it?"
She was weeping and hanging on to the unyielding arm of her cross lover, who glared at the intruding Bulstrode with a youthful jealousy at which the older man smiled while he envied it. He pursued impressively:
"Miss Desprey has been painting my portrait for the past few weeks. I gave her the order at the Art League; other than painter and sitter we have no possible interest in each other—Mr.——"
"Gregs," snapped the stranger, "Daniel Gregs!"
The slender creature, whose eyes never left the stolid, uncompromising face, repeated eagerly:
"No possible interest—Dan—none! He doesn't care anything about me at all! You heard what he said, didn't you? I only like him like a kind, kind friend."
"I only like him like a kind, kind friend"
Her voice, soft as a flower, caressed and pleaded with the passionate tenderness of a woman who feels that an inadvertent word may keep for her or lose for her the man she adores.