I've years of silence to make up for.

Let me talk like a fool; _you_ know I'm not one....

Oh, the happiness of this one night!--the happiness of it! I never shall have enough dancing, never enough of pleasure....

I--I'm perfectly mad over pleasure; I like men....

I suppose the champagne makes me frank about it--but I don't care--I do like men----" "_That_ one ?" demanded Mallett, halting her on the edge of the palms which screened the conservatory doors.
"You mean Mr.Dysart?
Yes--I--do like him." "Well, he's married, and you'd better not," he snapped.
"C-can't I _like_ him ?" in piteous astonishment which set the colour flying into his face.
"Why, yes--of course--I didn't mean----" "_What_ did you mean?
Isn't it--shouldn't he be----" "Oh, it's all right, Geraldine.