“Don’t be alarmed, my dear,” he croaked, in tones that were meant to be reassuring. “There’s a heart here that beats for you, and you alone!”
“Where’s the heart?” she gasped.
“In this troubled breast,” he roared. “I’ve half a mind to marry you.”
“Put me down!” she screamed. “I wouldn’t marry anyone with half a mind!”
Dragonfel rose, and stamped his foot angrily, at which silent rebuke Grouthead set Dame Drusilda hastily down. She gave a sigh of great relief, and, gathering up her skirts, flew toward the enchanter.
“Oh, sir,” she implored, “can nothing move you?”
“Yes,” he said, in sneering tones, “a ton of dynamite! You are a pippin, but you withered on the stem!”
“You villain!” she screamed, shaking a tiny clenched fist at him. “I could annihilate you for that; you deserve worse!”
And she made for him again, but the tactful Violet and Daffodil grasped each of her arms, and held her back.