"Then—I beg of you."
"And I refuse, sir—my mind is made up."
"And mine also!" said I, rising.
"Why, what—what are you going to do?" she cried, retreating as I advanced towards her.
"I am going to carry you into the cottage."
"You would not dare!"
"If you refuse to walk, how else can you get there?" said I.
Anger, amazement, indignation, all these I saw in her eyes as she faced me, but anger most of all.
"Oh—you would—not dare!" she said again, and with a stamp of her foot.
"Indeed, yes," I nodded. And now her glance wavered beneath mine, her head drooped, and, with a strange little sound that was neither a laugh nor a sob, and yet something of each, she turned upon her heel, ran into the cottage, and slammed the door behind her.