Violet darted away from the window, but Angel, reaching through the bars, calmly raised the sash, which, even in the warmest weather, was drawn against the noise and dust of the street. His dark face was flushed, and though his wet, red lips were smiling, they smiled evilly.
"No treecks," he commanded. "You come to me. I wanta talk."
Violet did not answer. She huddled into the farthest corner.
"Stan' out!" continued Angel, his lips still curved. "You theenka me so dumb? I am sharpa 'nough for see you. You come here, or I go ope stairs an' reenga da bell."
Slowly, like the bird advancing to the swaying serpent, she obeyed him.
"Now," he said, when they were face to face, "you alone?"
She thanked Heaven that they were. The cook was in the kitchen.
"Poot on you' hat an' come alonga with me."
"I won't!" said Violet.
"You do eet!"