"Yes, I am very brutal. You were brutal, too. You see, I remembered
that novel while I was dressing for dinner, and it taught me a lot.
You and _it_ have made me rather wise between you. Well, I love you,"
he went on, suddenly fierce, "and you must love me. _Dagny!_"
Bending, he kissed her.
She herself had killed his boyish shyness, his youthful hesitation,
all the boy's natural fear of repulsion.
He was the man, she the woman. He dominated, she submitted; he was
strong, she was weak; he was big, she was small.
"Oh, why----" she stammered, as he released her.
"Because--it is the only way. You could always have beaten me at
talking----"
"You had no right to kiss me."
"I think I had. If a woman has a right to torment a man as you
tormented me, he surely has a right to take whatever means he can
of--getting even. Women are so brutal----"
He had found, she felt, the solution to the Eternal riddle.
Her heart was beating furiously, but her voice, as she went on, was
cool enough.
"Look here, Teddy, I will tell you the truth about all this. Will you
believe me?"