Beatrix received the kiss, tried to return the smile and to find even one word to say, but her heart was trembling, and her hand was held so tight that her fingers were crushed together. She heard other remarks as though they were spoken a long way off, felt herself guided and controlled up the wide stairway as if she were walking in a dream, and found herself standing in the gallery.
"Which is your room!"
It was not a question. It was an order, sharp and short.
She pointed to the door, shaking like a frightened deer.
But when she stood inside her room, heard the door shut and locked, and saw Franklin with his white teeth gleaming under his moustache, her voice came back and she clasped her hands together in a very ecstasy of appeal.
"Let me off! Please, please let me off!"
Franklin shot out a laugh. "Not I. You've told everybody that you're my wife. Good. Live up to it."
He took the key out of the lock and put it in his pocket. Then he sat down and crossed one leg over the other. "How long will you be?" he asked.
This girl needed the spurs. He intended to use them.
VII