"Oh, confound you, Linda," he growled, "don't turn heroics on me at this hour of the morning. I tell you we're in a hell of a mess."
"I'm not," said Belinda.
Loring couldn't help a grin.
"You're not, hey? Well, I like your colossal cheek," he said.
Belinda shot out her hand, and grasped him firmly by the arm with her white, soft fingers in which the little bones were strong as steel.
"You look at me, Morry," she commanded. "You look me right in the eyes."
He did so, unwillingly.
"Well?" he said.
"I want you to understand," said Belinda, "that when you took me in your arms yesterday and kissed me ... like that ... you took me for good."
"Oh, go to the devil, Linda! I tell you I'm not in the mood for high-mucky-muck talk."