I wonder,” he added, after a moment’s pause, “whether you ever realize how young you are. “Well, you certainly did very well at tea,” she remarked. Well, kill me. In this moment he could have stamped upon the Wastrel's face, and ended the affair; but all that was clean in him, chivalrous, revolted at the thought. It's my way when I'm ruffled. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. She was gathering quite a crowd in her newfound popularity, and the phenomenon was so apparent she could almost form her own harem of young boys. The Wastrel wiped the blood from his forehead. I waited for her at the back.
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