"And then when you were hurt," Stella went on in a low voice, "Marian told me. Julian, she did mind frightfully. I always wanted you to know that she did mind."
"It altered her plans, didn't it," said Julian, "quite considerably?"
"You've no business to talk like that!" said Stella, angrily. "It's not fair—or kind."
"And does it matter to you whether I'm fair or kind?" Julian asked, with deadly coolness.
"I beg your pardon," said Stella, quickly. "Of course it has nothing to do with me. I have no right to—to mind what you say."
"I'm glad you recognize that," said Julian, quietly. "It facilitates our future intercourse. And you agreed with Marian that she only did her duty in painstakingly adhering to her given word? Perhaps you encouraged her to do it? The inspiration sounds quite like yours."
She looked at him now.
"Julian," she said, "am I all wrong? Would you rather that we weren't friends at all? You are speaking as if you hated me."
"No, I'm not," he said quickly, "you little goose! How could I keep you here if I hated you? Have a little sense. No, don't put your hand there, because, if you do, I shall take it, and I'm rather anxious just now not to. You shall go directly you've answered me this. Did you agree with Marian's point of view about me? You know what it was, don't you? She didn't love me any more; she wished I had been killed, and she decided to stick to me. She thought I'd be grateful. Do you think I ought to have been grateful?"
"You know I don't! You know I don't!" cried Stella. "But why do you make me say it? I simply hated it—hated her not seeing, not caring enough to see, not caring enough to make you see. There! Is that all you wanted me to say?"