Now that she assailed him thus, and taxed him with that same audacity, the blood of anger rushed to his face--anger of the quality that has its source in shame.

In a second he was on his feet before her, towering to the full of his lean height.

The words came from him in a hot stream, which for reckless passion by far outvied his erstwhile amatory address.
"My station ?" he cried, throwing wide his arms.

"What fault lies in my station?
I am a secretary, a scholar, and so, by academic right, a gentleman.

Nay, Mademoiselle, never laugh; do not mock me yet.