"I beg your pardon—but I will damn anything or anybody that comes between us."
"How dare you talk of things coming between us? I don't understand you. You are nothing to me whatever. And as for this display of temper, I should say you had no self-respect to damn. You see I don't mince words when I speak my mind."
"Why should you—to me? You can pitch things at me, if you like."
"This conversation does not promise to end satisfactorily to either of us."
"Cynthia, will you marry me?"
"Can you presume to ask such a question—now?"
"When a man's in earnest he doesn't think of opportunities and occasions. I must know to-day whether I am to blow my brains out or not."
"Don't do anything rash, but ride home and devour an immense dinner first. I hope, too, you will sleep well after it. How can you make yourself so ridiculous?"
"You will see that I am in earnest—too late. Cynthia, once more—will you marry me?"
"I will not marry you nor any other man."
"I shall shoot myself."
"If you particularly wish, I won't stand in your way."
"Have you no heart? Are you made of stone? You know I have loved you for years—all my life— from the first time I saw you. I remember how you looked quite well. Your nurse was curling your hair round a stick, and you were keeping as quiet as a mouse. You were five and a half. And you can tell me I am nothing to you!"
