“I don’t deny it. Why should I? He was very amusing, and if I found him so I cannot see why people should presume to criticise me. If I had a husband I might be called upon to answer to him, but as poor Dick is dead I consider myself perfectly free.”
“Yes, but not to make a fool of yourself by openly inviting people to cast mud at you,” he burst forth impatiently.
“Upon that point, Dudley, we shall never agree, so let us drop the subject,” she replied, treating his criticisms airily and with utter indifference. “I shall please myself, just as I have always done.”
“I have no doubt you will. That is what I regret, for when a woman loses her integrity and self-respect, she is indeed pitiable and degraded.”
“Really!” she cried; “you are in a most delightful mood, I’m sure. What has upset you? Tell me, and then I’ll forgive you.”
“Nothing has upset me—except your visit,” he answered quite frankly.
“Then I am unwelcome here?”
“While you continue to follow the absurd course you have of late chosen, you are.”
“Thank you,” she replied. “You are at least candid.”
“We have been friends, and you have, I think, always found me honest and outspoken, Claudia.”