Part 40 (2/2)
Here Windebank's face hardened.
”That woman ought to be shot,” he cried. ”As it is, I've a jolly good mind to show her up. And to think she got you there!”
”Ss.h.!.+”
”You've no idea what a house it is. It's quite the worst thing of its kind in London.”
”Then what were you doing there?”
”Eh!”
”What were you doing there?”
”I'm not a plaster saint,” he replied.
”Who said you were?”
”And I'm interested in life: curious to see all sides of it. She's often asked me, but to-night, when she wired to say she'd a paragon coming to dinner, I went.”
”She wired?”
”To-night. It all but missed me. I'm no end of glad it didn't.”
”I suppose I ought to be glad too,” remarked Mavis.
”I know you think me a bad egg, but I'm not; I'm not really,” he went on, to add, after a moment's pause, ”I believe at heart I'm a sentimentalist.”
”What's that?”
”A bit of a bally fool where the heart is concerned. What?”
”I think all nice people are that,” she murmured.
”Thanks.”
”I wasn't including you,” she remarked.
”Eat that ice.”
”Wild horses wouldn't make me.”
”You'd eat it if you knew what pleasure it would give me.”
”You want me to break my word?” she said, with a note of defiance in her voice.
”Have your own way.”
”I mean to,”
<script>