“Oh, I’m not a viper! If you’re put out, so am I.”
“Who are you?” she demanded, breathlessly.
“That’s an incriminating question, Ma’am,” he replied. “In this case, though, the witness has no objection to answering. I’m your humble servant.”
His forced drollery was more obnoxious than his ill-humor, and, awakening her impatience, restored in a measure her courage. He was but a pitiful object, after all, with his flame-colored visage, and short, crouching figure; and, as her thoughts passed from the brutal part he had played on the road to her present situation, she exclaimed with more anger than apprehension:
“Perhaps you will tell me the meaning of this outrage––your smothering me––forcing me into this coach––and driving away––where?”
His face became once more downcast and moody. 147 Driven into a corner by her swift words, his glance met hers fairly; he drummed his fingers together.
“There’s no occasion to show your temper, Miss,” he said reflectively. “I’m a bit touchy myself to-day; ‘sudden and quick in quarrel.’ You see I know my Shakespeare, Ma’am. Let us talk about that great poet and the parts you, as an actress, prefer––”
“Can I get an answer from you?” she cried, subduing her dread.
“What is it you asked?”
“As if you did not know!” she returned, her lip trembling with impatience and loathing.