That these two reserved and dignified people should quarrel at all was bad enough, but that they should have reached a point where they were indifferent to the presence of a third person was terrible.

He got himself out of the room without ceremony, but not before he saw Vincent rise and heard the first words of his sentence: "And what right have you to speak of loyalty ?" Here, fortunately, Lanley shut the door behind him, for Vincent's next words would have shocked him still more: "A prostitute would have stuck better to a man when he was ill." But Adelaide was now in good fighting trim.

She laughed out loud.
"Really, Vincent," she said, "your language! You must make your complaint against me a little more definite." "Not much; and give you a chance to get up a little rational explanation.
Besides, we neither of us need explanations.

We know what has been happening." "You mean you really doubt my feeling for you?
No, Vincent, I still love you," and her voice had a flute-like quality which, though it was without a trace of conviction, very few people who had ever heard it had resisted.
"I am aware of that," said Vincent quietly.
She looked beautifully dazed.
"Yet this morning you spoke--as if--" "But what is love such as yours worth?
A man must be on the crest of the wave to keep it; otherwise it changes automatically into contempt.

I don't care about it, Adelaide.