But she was young, tingling with youth, and her slate was clean, notwithstanding the fool game that she had played, and she would keep it clean, if she had to fight her way out.
She took up her stand behind the table, alert and watchful.
"I don't get you when you go in for melodrama," she said.

"I much prefer your usual way of talking.

Translate for me." She spoke scornfully because hitherto she had been able to turn him off by scorn.
But it didn't work this time.

It was not anger that came into his eyes, only an unexpected and disconcerting reproach.

He made no attempt to go near her.