“I am determined.”
“What are you going to do with me?”
He started. “You? You aren’t going to make a fuss about it, are you?”
“That’s impudent!” She turned away from him and sat down upon the sofa restlessly.
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh, you needn’t be! Last night you let me know well enough what you thought of me. But I don’t mind, because I know that is what I am. I can’t remember ever being anything else; though, of course, if one is to be a man’s mistress, one has the right of choosing the man. I prefer education to ignorance, and a decent amount of politeness to mere brutality.”
“I am not merely brutal!” He stood up and faced her as he said it. “It’s you who are brutal—or at least you will be before you have done with me. Women are all cruel, because they understand men so well. Our souls are torn first by one and then by the other. I should like to make you see, however, that I have a duty to perform.”
“Duty?” She arose from the sofa, and came to stand beside him again.
“A duty to myself and—to some one else.”
“There’s a difference between duty and love, isn’t there?” This time she appeared to have no scruples, for she put her arms around him, frankly, and stood looking up at him. He held himself rigidly away from her.