"But," she said, with the least perceptible surprise, "he didn't make me."
"He told me he did."
"He told you?—What did he say exactly?"
"He said—if you must know—that he hadn't brought you, but that he had made you come."
"He didn't. He didn't really. But supposing he had—what then?"
"You want me to tell you what I think of it?"
"Yes."
"I think it was a beastly thing to make you do. He couldn't have done it—you know he couldn't have done it—if he hadn't been a bit of a blackguard."
I was going to say, "as well as a bounder"; but I didn't want to rub that in. I judged that when the poor child came to her senses her cup would be full enough without my pouring.
"But, you see," she said, still peaceably, "he didn't do it. He only said he did. That was his niceness. He wanted to save me."