“How dare you!” she cried, in a low voice.
“No,” he said, laughing, “you won’t call for help. Come, it isn’t much to give me, and I swear I will.”
Marjorie gazed at him wildly, as she realised her position; there, alone, in this man’s power, and no one at hand to defend her. Then, utterly careless of herself, as she thought of the bitter revenge she had planned, she held back her face, and, with a faint laugh and her voice trembling, she said,—
“No, I will not call for help. There is no need. Keep your word and I will pay you—as you wish.”
The blood crimsoned her cheeks as she spoke.
“No,” he said, with a laugh; “you shall pay me now,” and the next moment his arms were fast round her, and his lips pressed to hers.
Marjorie started away, angry and indignant, but her furious jealousy made her diplomatise, and she stood smiling at the good-looking, gipsy-like ne’er-do-weel, and said laughingly,—
“That was not fair; I promised you that as a reward, and now you have cheated me and will not keep your word.”
“Yes, I will,” he cried, as he seized her again eagerly; but she kept him back. “I’ll do anything you ask me. Curse Judith Hayle! She isn’t half so beautiful as you.”
Madge’s heart beat heavily, for admiration was pleasant, even from this low-class scoundrel. His words were genuine, as she could see from his eager gaze, the play of his features, and the earnestness in his voice.