"Why didn't I let well enough alone?" thought the young lady. "At a distance, it seemed the easiest thing in the world; now that I am in the man's power, I am afraid of him, more so than I ever was before."
The man had taken his seat beside her. At this juncture he put his arm around her waist.
"Why can't we be comfortable and affectionate, as man and wife should—eh, Mollie? You don't know how much obliged to you I am for this interview."
There was a ring of triumph in his tone that Mollie could not fail to perceive. Her heart gave a great jump of terror, but she angrily flung herself out of his arm.
"Keep your distance, sir! How dare you? You sing quite a new song since I saw you last! Don't you lay a finger on me, or I'll—"
"What, pretty Cricket?" with a sardonic laugh.
Mollie caught her breath. That name, that tone—both were altogether new in the unknown man.
The sound of the voice, now that he spoke French, was quite unlike that of the man she had come to meet. And he was not wont to call her Cricket.
Had she made some horrible mistake—been caught in some dreadful trap? But, no; that was impossible.
"Look here, Mr. Mask," said Mollie, fiercely, "I don't want any of your familiarity, and I trust to your honor to respect my unprotected situation. I appointed this meeting because you kept your word, and behaved with tolerable decency when we last parted. I want to end this matter. I want to know who you are."