“I was only thinking,” said the colonel bluntly, “what a magnificent pair you two would make if you would only bring your minds to join forces, instead of always fencing and standing on ceremony like two proud peacocks.”
“My mind requires no making up, colonel,” responded Ormsby quickly, with an appealing, almost humble glance at Dora.
“Father, what nonsense you talk!” cried she, changing color and trembling so much that the cigarettes spilled upon the floor.
The colonel shut the door without further comment, and left them alone.
“How stupid of me,” murmured Dora, seeking to cover her confusion by picking up the cigarettes.
“I shall not allow you,” he murmured, seizing her arm in a strong grip, gently but firmly, and raising her. “I am ever at your service. You know that.”
“Let go my arm, please.”
“May I not take the other one as well, and look into your eyes, and ask you the question which has been in my mind for days?” 199
“It is useless, Mr. Ormsby. Let me go.”
“No,” he cried, coming quite close and surveying her with a glance so intense that she shrank away frightened. “I will not let you go. You are mine—mine! I mean to keep you forever. I’ll shadow you till you die. You shall never cast me off. No other man shall ever approach you as near as I. I will not let him. I would kill him.”