“Are you going to keep me here long?” he asked roughly. “I am going to Paris to-morrow, and I have to pack my clothes.”
“To Paris? With Mademoiselle Rosine?”
“Yes!”
She laughed softly.
“Oh! I think not,” she declared. “That sort of thing wouldn’t amuse you a bit.”
“We shall see!” he muttered.
“I am sure that you will not go,” she repeated.
“Why not?” he demanded.
“Because—I beg you not to!”
“You!” he exclaimed. “You! Do you think that I am another of those creatures of straw and putty, to dance to your whims, to be whistled to your heel, to be fed with stray kisses, and an occasional kind word? I think not! If I am to go to the Devil, I will go my own way.”