"No!" I exclaimed violently, springing up.
"Why, Steve," she gasped, recoiling, "how rude! He's a perfect gentleman, isn't he, Cousin Ludtvik?"
"Ja," nodded Ludtvik, placidly, "we go to his kraal sometime soon, maybe. A strong chief, that savage. His chief has perhaps good trade."
"No!" I repeated, furiously, "I'll go if somebody has to! Ellen's not going near that beast!"
"Well, that's nice!" remarked Ellen, somewhat indignantly. "I guess you're my boss, mister man?"
With all her sweetness, she had a mind of her own. In spite of all I could do, they arranged to go to the fetish-man's village the next day.
That night the girl came out to me, where I sat on the veranda in the moonlight, and she sat down on the arm of my chair.
"You're not angry at me, are you, Steve?" she said wistfully, putting her arm around my shoulders. "Not mad, are you?"
Mad? Yes, maddened by the touch of her soft body—such mad devotion as a slave feels. I wanted to grovel in the dust at her feet and kiss her dainty shoes. Will women never learn the effect they have on men?
I took her hand and hesitantly pressed it to my lips. I think she must have sensed some of my devotion.