"Twenty minutes past three," he said as if it was the most commonplace hour in the world to be driving through a country road.
For a moment she did not take it in. Then she threw dignity to the winds. She was rested enough to have some fight in her again.
"I'm going home! I'm going home if I have to walk!" she said wildly. She started to spring up in the car, with some half-formed intention of forcing him to stop by jumping out.
"Now, Marjorie, don't act like a movie-heroine," he said commonplacely—and infuriatingly. He also took one hand off the steering-wheel and put it around her wrist. "You can't go back to New York unless I take you. We're fifty miles up New York State, and there isn't a town near at all."
Marjorie sat still and looked at him. The car went on.
"I don't understand," she said. "You can't be going to abduct me,
Francis?"
Francis, set as his face was, smiled a little at this.
"That isn't the word, because you don't abduct your lawful wife. But I do want you to try me out before you discard me entirely. And apparently this is the only way to get you to do it."
"What are you going to do?" she asked.
"Want the cards on the table?"