"I think you were horrid to her," exclaimed Honora, indignantly. "It wouldn't have hurt you to drive her to Mrs. Darlington's."
It did not occur to her that her rebuke implied a familiarity at which they had swiftly but imperceptibly arrived.
"Oh, yes, it would hurt me," said he. "I'd rather spend a day in jail than drive with Lula in that frame of mind. Tender reproaches, and all that sort of thing, you know although I can't believe you ever indulge in them. Don't," he added.
In spite of the fact that she was up in arms for her sex, Honora smiled.
"Do you know," she said slowly, "I'm beginning to think you are a brute."
"That's encouraging," he replied.
"And fickle."
"Still more encouraging. Most men are fickle. We're predatory animals."
"It's just as well that I am warned," said Honora. She raised her parasol and picked up her skirts and shot him a look. Although he did not resemble in feature the great if unscrupulous Emperor of the French, he reminded her now of a picture she had once seen of Napoleon and a lady; the lady obviously in a little flutter under the Emperor's scrutiny. The picture had suggested a probable future for the lady.
"How long will it take you to dress?" he asked.