"I must
have a word with you; all the hat-pins in the world shall not prevent
me, now that you are here."
"Well, wait a minute, I beg of you," I implored. "You intimated a
moment ago that I was a puppet in the hands of some author. Whose?
I've a reputation to sustain, and shall not give myself up willingly,
unless I am sure that that person will not trifle with my character."
"Exactly my position," said she. "As I said, you can now understand
how it is yourself. But I will tell you in whose hands you are now--
you are in mine. Surely if you had the right to send me tearing down
Bellevue Avenue at Newport behind a runaway horse, and then pursue me
in spirit to the Profile House, I have the right to bring you here,
and I have accordingly done so."
For a woman's, her logic was surprisingly convincing. She certainly
had as much right to trifle with my comfort as I had to trifle with
hers.
"You are right, Miss Andrews," I murmured, meekly. "Pray command me
as you will--and deal gently with the erring."
"I will treat you far better than you treated me," she said.
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