"I did not," he sighed. He was not the least excited by her acknowledgement.
"I am," she affirmed. "More and more as the days go by." She smiled into his face, while he looked tired. "Have you anyone back where you came from, who loves you and calls you her all?" she asked now, as though she could think of nothing else to say.
"No, no, no!" He looked distressed. "I wish I had," he added.
"I know you tell what is not true—feel you do," she corrected. After a pause she said: "Do you happen to have just a little, only a little regard for me?" He made light of it by blowing her a kiss, and tried to change the conversation, but she had more to say.
"Of course you wouldn't love an old grass-widow like me anyhow," she pouted. He was at a loss what to say, so said nothing.
"Why don't you say something?" she said, put out.
"You should not make such remarks," he said, with a frown.
"But it's true, it's true, and you can't deny it." She seemed angry now, and didn't appear to care what she said. She left his knee with a last retort. "And you men are the cause of it all."
He leaned his head against the back of the davenport and closed his eyes, which angered her, and she cried:
"Go to sleep, go to sleep. You are the worst person I ever knew," and forthwith she left the room.