"No, I'm not; I am—angry!"
"With me?"
"No!—not you."
"Whom, then?"
"With—myself!" And she stamped her tiny foot imperiously.
Paul was delighted. "Poor child," he said. "What have you done that you are so sorry?"
"I'm not sorry! That's why I'm angry! If I were only a bit sorry, I'd have some self-respect!"
Paul looked at her deliberately, taking in every little detail of her appearance, his eyes full of admiration. Then he added, with an air of finality, "But I respect you!"
She softened, and laid her hand on his arm. Paul instantly took possession of it.
"Do you really?" she asked, searching his face, almost wistfully. "A girl who will do ...what I am doing to-night!"