"I have a right to confiscate that sort," said Max.
"What right?" She flung the question like a challenge, and as she flung it she straightened herself in sudden splendid defiance. All the pallor had gone from her face. She glowed with fierce, pulsing life.
Max remained looking at her. There was a glint of mercilessness in his eyes. "What right?" he repeated slowly. "If you saw a blind man walking over a precipice, would you say you hadn't the right to stop him?"
"I am not blind!" she flung back at him. "And I refuse to be stopped by you—or anyone!"
Max raised his red brows. "You amaze me," he said. "Then you are aware of the precipice?"
She clenched her hands. "I know what I am doing—yes! And I can guide myself. I refuse to be guided by you!"
"Violet!" Nervously Olga interposed. "Never mind now, dear! Do sit down and have some breakfast! The eggs are getting cold."
"Quite so," said Nick, putting down his letters abruptly. "The coffee also. Olga, you may tear up all my correspondence. It's nothing but bills. Miss Campion, wouldn't you like to butter some toast for me? You do it better than anyone I know. And I'm deuced hungry."
She turned away half-mechanically, met his smile of cheery effrontery, and suddenly flashed him a smile in return.
"What a gross flatterer you are!" she said "Allegro, aren't you jealous? Which piece of toast do you fancy, Nick? Can I cut up some ham for you as well?"