“What is the matter with you, Dora?” asked Richard Darwin, as he sat down and ordered a waiter to fetch a bottle of champagne.
“You know well enough what is the matter,” Dora snappishly replied. “What’s the use of you trying to feign ignorance?”
“You look real sweet when you talk in that way.”
“How dare you!”
Dora’s fine eyes flashed. She turned around in her chair, faced Darwin, and glared at him.
One could see that she was not in an amiable mood. She was angry about something. Her face was flushed, and she raised her hand, as if she would have liked to have struck her companion in the face.
“Here’s the wine,” Darwin exclaimed, with a forced laugh, as the waiter placed the bottle and glasses on the table. “Drink some, and see if it won’t put you in a good humor.”
“I want none of your wine,” Dora retorted. “Keep it for your——”
“Yes, you do.”
“I won’t touch it. You and I are quits from this night forth.”