"Dodo, you are a very combustible sort of person. Do you realize the danger of what we are doing?"
She shrugged her shoulders impatiently, going directly to the issue:
"Tell me about yourself—about your real self: your home, your wife! I must know!"
"I don't wish to talk about others," he said, irritated in his sense of delicacy.
"But I do!" she said passionately. "I saw her. There can be nothing between you—and her!"
He made an imperative gesture, checking himself immediately, saying with more restraint:
"There is nothing between us. Dodo, there are some things I don't think you quite understand. Whatever may exist, I can not discuss Mrs. Massingale with others!"
"'Others'!" she said indignantly, turning from him, deeply hurt.
He took her by the wrist and led her to a seat, feeling the necessity of asserting his supremacy. She allowed herself to be forced into it, looking up at him with rebellious eyes, like a naughty child.
"Do you know the danger of what you are doing?" he repeated. And then he corrected himself—"What we are doing?"