The words were like the bellow of a goaded bull. Another instant, and he would have been at hand grips with the boy, but in that instant Nan sprang. With the strength of desperation, she threw herself against him, caught wildly at his arms, his shoulders, clinging at last with frenzied fingers to his breast.
"You shan't do it!" she gasped, struggling with him. "You shan't do it! If—if you must punish anyone, punish me! Piet, listen to me! Oh listen! I am to blame for this! You can't—you shan't—hurt him just because he has stood by me when—when I most wanted a friend. Do you hear me, Piet? You shan't do it! Beat me, if you like! I deserve it. He doesn't!"
"I will deal with you afterwards," he said, sweeping her hands from his coat at a single gesture.
But she caught at the hand that sought to brush her aside, caught and held it, clinging so fast to his arm that without actual violence he could not free himself.
He stood still, then, his eyes glowering ruddily over her head at Jerry, who stamped and swore behind her.
"Anne," he said, and the sternness of his voice was like a blow, "go into the next room!"
"I will not!" she gasped back. "I will not!"
Her face was raised to his. With her left hand she sought and grasped his right wrist. Her whole body quivered against him, but she stood her ground.
"I shall hurt you!" he said between his teeth.
"I don't care!" she cried back hysterically. "You—you can kill me, if you like!"