She was crying convulsively and there is nothing that annoys me more.
"Don't cry," said I, "you know you don't really care, so what's the good of shamming?"
She tried hysterics.
"Drop that," I told her. "What's the good of play-acting at me? You know you can't fool me. Drop it."
"Oh," she wailed, "how dare you say I don't care! You've b-broken my h-heart."
"Drop it."
She gulped, pulled herself together and looked up. "Well?"
"Now look here," I told her, "you stop playing the fool. You asked this man to run away with you. If you'd cared for him the least little bit, you wouldn't have asked a soldier on active service to get himself court-martialed and shot for deserting in the face of the enemy."
"I never—"
"Don't lie. Don't play crocodile tears on me. Stop shamming and lying for once in your mean little life. Joe came to save you from yourself, and died in the attempt."