"I gathered from a recent remark of yours that you didn't think too highly of women." "I don't," he replied with uncompromising directness.
"Then why--why----" "Perhaps I have a fancy to drop back for a brief space into the life I have renounced," he suggested mockingly.
"Then you really are what they call you--a hermit ?" "I really am." "And feminine society is taboo ?" "Entirely--as a rule." If, for an instant, the faintest of smiles modified the grim closing of his lips, Sara failed to notice it.
The cold detachment of his answer irritated her.

It was as though he intended to remain, hermit-like, within his shell, and she had a suspicion that behind this barricade he was laughing at her for her ineffectual attempts to dig him out of it with a pin.
"I suppose some woman didn't fall into your arms just when you wanted her to ?" she hazarded.
She had not calculated the result of this thrust.

His eyes blazed for a moment.

Then, a shade of contempt blending with the former cool insouciance of his tone, he said quietly: "You don't expect an answer to that question, do you ?" The snub was unmistakable, and Sara's cheeks burned.

She felt heartily ashamed of herself, and yet, incongruously, she was half inclined to lay the blame for her impertinent speech on his shoulders.