I was beside her instantly, was looking into her face. “What do you mean?” I asked, and I did not speak gently.
She gazed at me without flinching. “And I suppose,” she said, satirically, “you wonder why I—why you—are repellent to me. Haven’t you learned that, while I may have been made into a moral coward, I’m not a physical coward? Don’t bully and threaten. It’s useless.”
I put my hand strongly on her shoulder—taunts and jeers do not turn me aside. “What do you mean?” I repeated.
“Take your hand off me,” she commanded.
“What did you mean?” I repeated, strongly. “Don’t be afraid to answer me.”
She was very young—so the taunt stung her. “I was about to tell you,” said she, “when you began to bluster.”
I took advantage of this to extricate myself from the awkward position in which she had put me—I took my hand from her shoulder.
“I am going to leave you,” she went on. “I am ready to go at any time. But if you wish it, I shall not go until my plans are arranged.”
“What plans?” I demanded.
“That is no concern of yours.”