“I don’t care.”
“But I do. Look here. Let me go to him boldly and tell him I want to take you away.”
“Oh, no!”
She tried to run away from him. But Bayre caught her by the wrist and held her, and finding that she was shivering, took off his own overcoat, and insisted, although she struggled and protested, on wrapping her in it.
“Now,” said he, coolly, though the coolness did not extend to his eyes, “you can’t run away without robbing me of my property. I’ll let you go in five minutes, but you must be good and listen to me first. You say you are miserable here—”
“Only lately. It’s all changed suddenly,” said she in a piteous tone.
“Well, you are miserable, and now that you know there’s something wrong, and that you’ve thrown over old Blaise—”
“I didn’t. He’s thrown me over!”
“Well, well, you may congratulate yourself anyhow, I think. For though I may not be a great match, I’m a little more presentable than he is.”
“What you are has nothing to do with it.”