"I should think you could climb up on the wall," she said, pointing, "right where it joins the house, and then make a jump for that nearest window."
Pete looked at her severely.
"Do you think I'm a trapeze performer? Do you want me to break a leg?"
Mary measured the jump with her eye.
"Mr. Marshall could do it," she said.
"Rot!"
"But he could. And he'd be willing to try, too."
Pete's glance had turned into a glare.
"There's gratitude for you! That's a fine thing to throw up in my face. Just because I'm not an overgrown brute you think it's a lot of fun to stand there making dares."
"If you think I'm having any fun," she said sharply, "you're tremendously wrong. I'm all stiff and scratched up from those rose-thorns—and I'm hungry. And thirsty! And Mr. Marshall may be large—but he is not an overgrown brute."