"No, Pansy," he said. "No one has ever struck me, and you're not going to. For I don't quite know what the consequences might be."
There was a brief, tense silence.
As he looked at the girl, it seemed that Fate had decided the next move for him.
"We may as well come to an understanding," he went on. "I hate your father, but I love you. And you've got to have me, whether you like it or not. I'd prefer to marry you in your English way. But if you won't consent to that, then—I shall take you, in mine. The choice is with you."
There was only one part of his ultimatum that Pansy thoroughly grasped. And there seemed no limit to his audacity.
"I'd rather die than marry you," she flamed. "For I hate you. Do you hear? I hate you more than anything on this earth."
He heard right enough, and his face blanched at her words.
Then, before he had recovered from this blow, Pansy struck him across the mouth, with all her strength, bringing blood to the lips that dared to talk of love to her.