“But why?” and Gladys opened wide her clear, large eyes in genuine astonishment.
“He is a generous master; your singing pleases him, and he pays you so,” replied Canaris, bitterly.
“He is not my master!”
“He will be.”
“Never! I shall not go, if I am to be burdened with benefits. I will earn my just due, but not be overpaid. Tell him so.”
Gladys caught back the chain, unclasped the cross, and threw the pearls upon the grass, where they lay, gleaming, like great drops of frozen dew, among the green. Canaris liked that; thought proudly, “I have no need to bribe;” and hastened to make his own the thing another seemed to covet. Drawing nearer, he looked up, asking, in a tone that gave the question its true meaning,—
“May I be your master, Gladys?”
“Not even you.”
“Your slave, then?”
“Never that.”