He said something, what she did not hear, in her
agitation. She paused and inquired:
``What did you say?''
``I said, I am not rude but kind,'' replied he.
``That is detestable!'' cried she. ``I have not liked
you, but I have been polite to you because of Stanley
and Mrs. Brindley. Why should you be insulting to
me?''
``What have I done?'' inquired he, unmoved. He
had risen as she rose, but instead of facing her he was
leaning against the post of the veranda, bent upon his
seaward vigil.
``You have insinuated that your reasons for not liking
me were a reflection on me.''
``You insisted,'' said he.
``You mean that they are?'' demanded she furiously.
She was amazed at her wild, unaccountable rage.
He slowly turned his head and looked at her--a
glance without any emotion whatever, simply a look
that, like the beam of a powerful searchlight, seemed
to thrust through fog and darkness and to light up
everything in its path. Said he:
``Do you wish me to tell you why I don't like you?''
``No!'' she cried hysterically.
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