“Come out!” he called, roughly.
“What do you want?” she asked, at once on the defensive, quickened to a defensive strength. She was not afraid of him, not afraid of anything. The time for fear had passed.
“Come out!” he repeated.
She unlocked her door and stepped into the hall, facing von Essen. His heavy face was set; his mouth, more brutal than Bismarck’s mouth, was implacable.
“Go down-stairs,” he said.
“What for?”
“Because I tell you to,” he said. “Because I’m through shilly-shallying with you. Cantor is there.... You’ve put him off for months. He wants to marry you, and I want to be rid of you. You are going down to tell him you will marry him.”
She did not reply.
“Do you hear?” he said, roughly.
“Yes,” she said, quietly. “Does he want to marry me?”