"He is the one who used to say you had hands like iron, and a heart like velvet ?" "Yes.

_Fancy_ you remembering that!" says Tita, a sudden, quick gleam of pleasure dyeing her pretty cheeks quite red.
"I always remember," returns Rylton distantly.
His tone is a repulse.

The lovely colour fades from her face.
"I'm tired," says she suddenly, petulantly.

She moves to the other end of the room, and, opening a wardrobe, pretends to make some rearrangements with its contents.

"If you have nothing more to say"-- with perhaps more honesty than politeness--"I wish you would go away." "I _have_ something more to say." The very nervousness he is feeling makes his tone unnecessarily harsh.