“You are a wretch,” she said, looking up at him. She was a small woman, and in this day of giantesses this has its charm.
“A wretch?”
“Yes. You are a flirt.”
Of course, he was delighted by this accusation, and smiled down, his teeth gleaming under his young, yellow mustache.
“I am a saint,” he declared, with conviction. “A young, innocent—anchorite.”
“Young—yes. You are very young, Mr. Cleeve.”
“You called me Teddy this afternoon.”
“Then I was a very abandoned person.”
“Please be abandoned again. By the way, the colonel expiated many times at dinner, didn’t he?”
She stared. “How?”