"It's true, it's true.

She's drivelling about it, drivelling!" Alec Osborn threw back his head, drawing in a hard breath which was almost a snort of fury.
"By God!" he cried, "if she went out on Faustine now, she would not come back!" His rage had made him so far beside himself that he had said more than he intended, far more than he would have felt safe.

But the girl was as far beside herself as he was, and she took him up.
"Serve her right," she cried.

"I shouldn't care.

I hate her! I hate her! I told you once I couldn't, but I do.