“Come into the tea room, Mr. Henderson,” she interrupted, “and we’ll discuss the matter. I can assure you that the child is quite safe and happy, and that you will accomplish nothing by violence. No, Mr. Henderson—the best thing you can do is to come to terms with me.”
“My name is not Henderson,” he began, but she had gone past him into the tea room, and he followed.
“Tea, Betsy dear!” said she. “For two, please!”
“No!” said Mr. Donalds. “I do not want tea!”
“And sandwiches,” went on the red-haired woman, unperturbed. “And cake, if you please, Betsy dear. Sit down, Mr. Henderson!”
“I shall stand,” said he, and stand he did, with his arms folded.
The woman sat down, and she said nothing. Mr. Donalds appreciated the cleverness of this silence. By saying nothing at all she had him at a disadvantage, for she did not mind waiting, and he did. He was obliged to begin.
“Well?” he demanded.
“Well!” she returned briskly.
There was another silence—quite a long one.