It was thus he gauged her confidence, and seeing she scarcely noticed the weapon, argued that powerful assistance must be near at hand to render this brave woman so arbitrary and so unconcerned.
His admiration burst out in spite of his discomfiture and critical position—
“Well, you’re a cool one!” he exclaimed, in accents of mingled vexation and approval. “A cool one and a stunner—I’m blest if you aint!”
“I am not afraid of you, Charles Peace,” she returned—“why should I be? You are now in my power.”
“Are you, then, mistress of this establishment?” inquired our hero.
“I am, and have been so for some years. What more do you desire to know?”
Peace seemed all of a sudden to be under a spell, and while he acknowledged its strength had no power—nay, had no wish to resist its influence. What had come over him?
He felt almost pleased to know he was at her mercy, and yet she treated him like the dirt under her feet.
“The mistress of this princely establishment—why, Bessie?”
“Don’t call me Bessie, if you please, sir. It is my husband and my intimates who have the privilege of addressing me by my Christian name.”