He moved his shoulders expressively. Her youth and cleverness were bewildering him.
“No, that will not do,” he said in desperation. “You must give me the papers.”
“I will not. You shall have to take them from me.”
He leaned toward her along the mantel aware of her dominant loveliness.
“You would not drive me to that!”
“Yes. It is a challenge. I offer it. I will fight you, and I am strong. I have a voice and I will raise an outcry. They will come and I will tell them. Then you can denounce me? Will you dare?”
He came toward her while she fled around the davenport, eluding him with ease. She was swifter of foot than he. He stopped a moment near the gun-rack to plead. She kept the huge oak lounge between them and listened by the fire. Something she saw in his eyes decided her, for as he came forward to leap over the davenport she threw something yellow toward him.
He gave a gasp of relief, picked the object up and made a cry of dismay.
“The cover! I must have the papers,” he cried, coming forward again.
By this time the girl was standing upright, a poker in one hand, the thin cigarette papers cramped in the fingers of the other, over the open fire.