“I hate him!” Angela declared, hiding her crimson cheeks in her hands.
“My dear child, hatred’s the back door into love. Think of him, lying on the damp ground with his throat cut!—such a nice throat, too! He’s adorably handsome, for a barbarian. Of course, he drops an h or so now and then—”
“He never does.”
“Doesn’t he? Well, no doubt you know better than I do. I wouldn’t have your conscience, Angela.”
“He was very rude to me.”
“Asked you to marry him, didn’t he? Shockin’ presumption!”
“I only told him the truth.”
“When I refused a man, I always did it nicely and tried to spare his feelings. I don’t see why you are so angry with the poor man; I’m sure it was very brave of him to fall in love with you.”
Silence for a little while. Angela said at last: “Maud, do you really think I ought to beg his pardon?”
“Haven’t the slightest doubt of it, my dear.”