He threw himself in it, and leaned back, looking up at her.
"I'll tell you what I want: I want to know just where you and I stand.
Hang it, the man who pays for the dinner is generally allowed to have a seat at table." She flamed with anger and abasement, and the sickening need of having to conciliate where she longed to humble.
"I don't know what you mean--but you must see, Gus, that I can't stay here talking to you at this hour----" "Gad, you go to men's houses fast enough in broad day light--strikes me you're not always so deuced careful of appearances." The brutality of the thrust gave her the sense of dizziness that follows on a physical blow.

Rosedale had spoken then--this was the way men talked of her--She felt suddenly weak and defenceless: there was a throb of self-pity in her throat.

But all the while another self was sharpening her to vigilance, whispering the terrified warning that every word and gesture must be measured.
"If you have brought me here to say insulting things----" she began.
Trenor laughed.

"Don't talk stage-rot.

I don't want to insult you.