"You'll make me, I suppose?"
"Yes— I will."
"Pouf! Just try it...."
She pirouetted insolently, and he caught her by one arm. Then began a most astonishing scuffle. Belinda escaped, and rushed to the farthest end of the room. Morris bounded after her—caught her again. She turned and twisted in his grasp. Her red-brown mane came down; she struck at him, tried to bite his hand where it gripped her.
Amaldi sat like an image watching this, to him, appalling game of romps. His face was as expressionless as a Chinaman's. He thought he had never looked on a cruder exhibition of sex-provocation. He thought his ears deceived him when he heard Mrs. Horton exclaim:
"Did you ever see such a pair of children! Linda! Morry! You'll break something... Do behave! Can't you make Morry behave, Sophy?... Oh, dear! What do you mean by behaving like this, Linda?"
Amaldi thought this question most unnecessary. He thought Belinda's meaning only too painfully lucid. He was astounded to hear Sophy's sweet, natural laughter.
"Morris!" she called. "Belinda! You really shouldn't romp like this before Amaldi. He'll think you're demented...."
("'Demented!'" thought Amaldi.)
For the first time it dawned on him that perhaps Sophy did not take in the situation after all. Then he glanced at Belinda, panting, flushed, bacchante-like, in the grip of the white-faced, angry-eyed man who was trying to drag the ring from her finger. No! It was impossible. The others must see a thing so flagrant, so palpable. But Mrs. Horton continued to exclaim helplessly at intervals: