And the while in accents as honeyed as her glances she was saying:
“O, Mister—Mister Gristmille, it has been so good of you to come! With all that money!
“And do you really think you can make an actress of me? Really?”
“I?—Why I,” said Mr. Cyril Gristmille, “could make an actress of a doughboy to say nothing of so perfect a little gentleman as you.”
“How adorable! What do I do first?”
“The first thing you do,” he said, and suddenly took her by the shoulder and shook her thoroughly, “is to understand that you do every little damn thing I tell you without making any fuss or faces about it. Do you get me?”
He shook her again till her curls rattled.
Verbeena listened breathlessly and breathless isn’t much of a word for it. Her heart wobbled.
“You are always to remember I—I am boss.
“And don’t you try to carry out any notions of your own while you are acting around me.