"What is that?"
"What is in mine, at least, is my own affair," she said. "What is in yours—well, I must use another harsh expression: it is nothing in the world but a vanity that has been damaged."
"Because you prefer"
"Yes," she said bravely. "Because you see that anybody would prefer him to you."
But at that, Ogle broke into helpless and painful laughter. "You call me stupid, and you think I'm all injured egoism—I see you really do think it—and I don't know why I still care to try to make you understand what I feel. You think I'm piqued merely because you've made me a convenience and because you preferred to ask him to help you out with your plan for Hyacinthe instead of asking me. By the way, why didn't you? I'd have given it to you."
"You'd have given me what?"
"What you needed to set Hyacinthe up in that impresario's office. Why didn't you ask me?"
"Ask you for money?" she said, and her stare at him was as blank as the tone in which she made that inquiry. "Why didn't I?"
"Yes. Why didn't you? I'd have given it to you."
