You never even said
you were sorry."
"I'm not in the habit of saying all I think and feel."
"You were quick enough to apologize, after supper there, when you
hadn't really done anything; and now, when one would expect you
to be at least decently sorry, you--you--well, you act like the
savage you are! There, now! It may not be nice to say it, but
it's the truth."
Grant smiled bitterly. "All men are savages under the skin," he
said. "How do YOU know what I think and feel? If I fail to come
through with the conventional patter, I am called an
Indian--because my mother was a half-breed." He threw up his
head proudly, let his eyes rest for a moment upon the moon,
swimming through a white river of clouds just over the tall
poplar hedge planted long ago to shelter the orchard from the
sweeping west winds; and, when he looked down at her again, he
caught a glimpse of repentant tears in her eyes, and softened.
"Oh, you're a girl, and you demand the usual amount of poor-pussy
talk," he told her maliciously.
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