“No, but it’s a contemptible thing to intrigue one into a dilemma where she must listen to your insults whether she cares to or not!”
“Insults!”
“Very much so, Gordon. If you were a gentleman——”
“Lookit, Madge! Do you know what I could do to you, if I wanted?”
“Yes. Being stronger physically, there are many things you could do to me—if you wanted. The question is, would you? I hardly think you would——”
“Wouldn’t I, though? I know this game! I’ve played it before!”
It was a reckless assertion but it escaped before Gordon gave it thought.
His worldly wisdom had been gained through contact with femininity whose motto was: “Treat me rough, kid,—treat me rough!” He believed a woman enjoyed being “mauled”, even though she protested; that the man ultimately won who had the nerve to play out his hand. And he had never been seriously called to account for indiscretions to date. Madelaine’s attitude was cool dare—a challenge—or he so assumed. He proceeded to accept that challenge—to show her what unleashed male strength could do.
Laughing coolly, the lad’s arm closed tightly around Madelaine’s shoulders. His left hand caught her two wrists and held them firmly. He pulled the girl’s face toward him. He kissed her—as much and as long as he pleased.
Madelaine stiffened as she might have taken a blow she could not avoid. She did not attempt to fight back. She did not try to scream, to struggle, to excoriate him, to claw at his eyes. She endured the profanation until the boy’s temper was appeased. He could not hold her so always. His own position was too contorted. The moment his iron grip was loosened, she pushed open the car door and was over its edge in a flash. Down into the soggy, fern-choked ditch where the water trickled she jumped, falling on knees and hands. Her face was scratched. But she struggled up and darted around the rear of the car.