"Will you dance for me?" he said.
Joan stiffened—she was dealing with the strange personality, not the man who was part of the happy past.
"No," she said, evenly. "And you have no right to be here. I wish you would go at once."
"Out in this storm, you little pagan?"
"You could go downstairs and wait in the hall."
"You are afraid of me?"
"Not in the least."
"Afraid of yourself, then?"
"Certainly not. Why should I be afraid of myself?"
"Afraid for yourself, then?"