"Is that what you think?" she charged.
"I think you'll be sorry when you think it over."
She was annoyed at her inability to shake him, at the steadfastness with which he held to his point of view.
"You're trying to put me in the wrong," she flamed. "Well, I won't have it. That's all. You may take your choice, Mr. Lindsay. Either send that girl away—give her up—have nothing to do with her, or—"
"Or—?"
"Or please don't come here to see me any more."
He waited, his eyes steadily on her. "Do you sure enough mean that,
Miss Beatrice?"
Her heart sank. She knew she had gone too far, but she was too imperious to draw back now.
"Yes, that's just what I mean."
"I'm sorry. You're leavin' me no option. I'm not a yellow dog.
Sometimes I'm 'most a man. I'm goin' to do what I think is right."