But how can I be angry?
I can never be angry.

Why" (and here she came even a little closer, and now she was smiling most damnably--nay, I mean most delightfully; but it is often much the same), "I was not very angry even when you kissed me, Simon." It is not for me to say what answer to that speech she looked to receive.

Mine was no more than a repetition of my bow.
"You'll keep the commission, Simon ?" she whispered, standing on tiptoe, as though she would reach my ear.
"I can't," said I, bowing no more, and losing, I fear, the air of grave composure that I had striven to maintain.

I saw what seemed a light of triumph in her eyes.

Yet that mood passed quickly from her.