The liquid melody of the music rose in a rippling flow, coming through the closed windows in soft minor chords. Standing there beside her, in the outer darkness and cold, Prescott began to understand the girl's feeling, the feeling of the hunted, who looks upon ease and joy. The house was gleaming with lights, even the measured tread of the dancers mingled with the flow of music; but here, outside, the wind began to whistle icily down the street, and the girl bent her head to its edge.
"You must go back at once to Miss Grayson's," urged Prescott, "and you must not come out again like this."
"You command merely for me to disobey," she said coolly. "By what right do you seek to direct my actions?"
"By the right of wisdom, or necessity, whichever you choose to call it," he replied. "Since you will not, of your own choice, care for yourself, I shall try to make you do so. Come!"
He put his hand upon her again. She sought to draw away, but he would not let go, and gradually she yielded.
"What a great thing is brute force! at least, you men think so," she said, as they walked slowly up the street.
"Yes, when properly exerted, as in the present instance."
They went on, the lights in the house became dimmer, and the sound of the music and the tread of the dance reached them no more.
She looked up into his face presently.