"It certainly appears that he considers me of some consequence since he troubled to visit me."
"And you lied to him."
"My dear Pauline, you are imaginative. Kiss me. You are a delightful creature. I never spend an hour in your company but I discover some new grace in you."
Her kisses were not to be had when she was angry.
"You lied to him and you have deceived me," she said, still standing before him, her body erect, her hands clinched.
"It is not always advisable to speak the exact truth, you know that well enough, Pauline; but I have not deceived you. Does a man deceive the woman he really loves?"
"The lie and the deceit are one," she returned. "You sent for this other woman, this Mademoiselle St. Clair. It was not your servant's plan. Latour was a fool to believe you."
"Was he? My dear, wise Pauline, his point of view and yours are not the same. You are jealous, whereas he—"
"I stop at nothing when I am jealous," she said. "The sooner you discover that phase in my character the better for you, Lucien."
"I discovered that after I had known you ten minutes," laughed Lucien, "and I am not afraid. Shall I tell you why? I have not deceived you, nor have I any intention of doing so. This Latour is too inquisitive, and inquisitiveness is always asking for a lie. Latour got it and is quite satisfied. Mademoiselle Pauline Vaison is a woman, a woman in love, and just because she is so, is suspicious. All women in love are. So I have not told her all my plans. To complete them it was necessary to get Mademoiselle St. Clair to Paris, so I sent for her."