Lawson took it from her. His eyes were red with wrath, but Frances took no heed.
"Does it remind you of home?" went on the young woman sarcastically.
"God forbid!" he blurted, with a flashing memory of the chef presiding there in the kitchen.
The calm was coming back to Frances' manner; she felt herself yet mistress. "Sit down; I will show you what a Virginia kitchen is like. I'll bake you a cake," she added, with a saucy air, for all the fear that was tugging at her heart, "if you are a good boy."
"I was never good!" he blazed.
"No," thoughtfully; "well, it's good to be truthful. I'll give you a cake for that."
"I want none of your cakes!"
Frances opened wide her innocent-seeming eyes, though her lip trembled.
"I want you!"
She leaned back against the table's edge as he came close to her. She clenched her hands, striving for the hot words she wanted, which would not come.