"Will you do what I ask?" she said. "If you will, I'll promise to listen to you afterwards. Your conscience is an awful bore, Michael."
"I'm an awful bore apart from my conscience. It's simply your impish persistence that makes you desire my society. It can't be anything else."
"Perhaps it is," Millicent said. "All the same, will you promise?"
"Very well," Michael said. "That's a bargain. I promise."
"For this one meal you'll be like you used to be?"
"What was that?" he asked. Her words annoyed him.
"Mine," she said. "Mine and not Margaret Lampton's."
Michael put down his knife and fork and looked straight into the eyes of the woman opposite him.
"I am Margaret Lampton's," he said, "and you'd better know it. I'm
Margaret Lampton's, body and soul." He flung her hand away.
Millicent gave a suggestive whistle. "Wh-o-o!" she said, with a low laugh. "So that's it?"