"Honest to your womanly instincts, and to the simplest and purest part of your nature.

I should have proved for myself the fact that you refused to sell your beautiful person for gold--that you were no slave in the world's auction-mart, but a free, proud, noble-hearted English girl who meant to be faithful to all that was highest and best in her soul.

Ah, Lucy! You are not this little dream-girl of mine! You are a very realistic modern woman with whom a man's 'ideal' has nothing in common!" She was silent, half-stifled with rage.

He stepped up to her and took her hand.
"Good-night, Lucy! Good-bye!" She wrenched her fingers from his clasp, and a sudden, uncontrollable fury possessed her.
"I hate you!" she said between her set teeth.

"You are mean! Mean! I hate you!" He stood quite still, gravely irresponsive.
"You have deceived me--cheated me!" she went on, angrily and recklessly.
"You made me think you wanted to marry me." The corners of his mouth went up under his ashen-grey moustache in a chill smile.
"Pardon me!" he interrupted.