“You see it was not my fault,” says Margaret.

She lets a passing glance fall on Rylton, and with an increase of dignity in her air leaves the room.  The two left behind look strangely at each other.

“So you were listening?” says Rylton.  “Listening all that time?”

“You wrong me as usual.  I was not listening all the time.  I didn’t want to listen at all.  Do you think I ever wanted to hear your voice again?”

“I didn’t flatter myself so far, as to this,”—­bitterly—­“and yet——­”

“I only wanted to get away from you, and I wasn’t listening, really.  I kept my fingers tight in my ears until you had been there for hours; then my arms felt as if they were dead, and I—­well, I dropped them then.”

“Hours!  I like that!  Why, I haven’t been here for half an hour yet.”

“Oh, you could say anything!” says Tita contemptuously.

She walks away from him, and flings herself into a lounging chair.  She is dressed in a very pale pink gown, with knots of black velvet here and there.  And as she has seated herself a tiny, exquisitely shaped foot, clad in a pale pink stocking and black shoe, betrays itself to the admiring air.

Rylton, who is too angry to see anything, and has only a half-conscious knowledge that she is looking more beautiful than ever, goes up to the lounging chair in which she is reclining, and looking down upon her, says sternly, and with a distinctly dramatic air: 

“At last we meet.”

“At last,” returns she, regarding with fixed interest the tip of her shoe as she sways it with an air of steady indifference to and fro.  “Against my will!”

“I know that.  I have had plenty of time to know that.”

“Then why do you come?”

“To see you,” says he plainly.

“Knowing that I didn’t wish to see you?"

“Yes.  Because I wish to see you.”

“What a man’s reason!” says she, with a scoffing smile.  “I wonder you aren’t ashamed of yourself.”

“Well, I am sometimes,” says Rylton, making an effort to suppress the anger that is rising within him.  “I sometimes tell myself, for example, that I must be the meanest hound alive.  I know you avoid me—­hate me—­and yet I come.”

“But why—­why?” impatiently.

“Because,” slowly, “I—­do not hate you."

“Don’t be a hypocrite,” says Tita sharply.  She gets up suddenly, pushing back her chair behind her. "Why do you pretend?” says she.  “What is to be gained by it?  I know we are bound to each other in a sense—­bound——­” She breaks off.  “Ah, that horrid word!” cries she.  “Why can we not get rid of it?  Why can’t we separate?  How ridiculous the laws are!  You would be as glad to say good-bye to me for ever as I should be to say it to you, and yet——­”

“I beg your pardon,” says Rylton, interrupting her quickly.  “Speak for yourself only.  For my part, I have no desire to be separated from you now, or,” steadily, “at any other time.”