“A nice time of anxiety you’ve given me, young lady,” he said, as he entered the room. “I saw you in a sort of sloping, slippery place, holding on by your hands and slipping. She even thought that perhaps she might come to love him, in spite of that faint indefinable flavor of absurdity that pervaded his courtly bearing. He flung aside all his talk of help and disinterested friendship as though it had never been even a disguise between them, as though from the first it was no more than a fancy dress they had put quite understandingly upon their relationship. I certainly didn’t mean to kiss you. The Iron Bar 397 XVIII.
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