“No, I’m not. Tell me what you mean.”
“Oh, what do you imagine I mean?” he retorted. “Do you think I’m blind? Do you suppose I’ve watched you all these years and don’t know you? Am I an ass, Scarlett? Be fair; am I?”
“No; not an ass,” I said.
“Then let me alone—unless you want plain speaking instead of a bray.”
“I do want it.”
“Which?”
“You know; go on.”
“Am I to tell you the truth?”
“As you interpret it—yes.”
“Very well, my friend; then, at your respectful request, I beg to inform you that you are in love with Madame de Vassart—and have been for months.”