“You would have lashed at Jamie.”
“And why not? He might have killed me.”
“He might have killed you, but you should not have touched him—not have thought of touching him.”
“Indeed! Why not?”
“Why not?” She raised herself upright and looked straight into his eyes, in which fire flickered, flared, then decayed, then flared again.
“You are no Dane, or you would not have asked ‘Why not?’ twice. Nay, you would not have asked it once.”
“Not a Dane?” His beard and mustache were quivering, and he snorted with anger.
“A Dane, I have read in history, is too noble and brave to threaten women and to strike children.”
He uttered an oath and ground his teeth.
“No; a Dane would never have thought of asking why not?—why not lash a poor little silly boy?”