He had gradually approached her, and uttered the last words face to face, his eyes close to hers. She held her head up—erect, defiant still.
“So you see, madame,” he said, “you belong to me.”
She smiled.
“Hand and foot,” he added. “But I am soft-hearted.”
He shrugged his shoulders and turned away.
“What will you?” he said, looking out of the window. “I love you.”
“Nonsense!”
He turned slowly round.
“What?”
“Nonsense!” repeated Etta. “You love power; you are a bully. You love to please your own vanity by thinking that you have me in your power. I am not afraid of you.”