She sank back, speechless. Anisty glanced her up and down without
visible emotion, then laughed unpleasantly,--the hard and unyielding
laugh of brute man brutishly impassioned.
"This silly ass, Maitland," he observed, "isn't really as superfluous
as he seems. _I_ find him quite a convenience, and I suppose that ought
to be totted up to his credit, since it's because he's got the good
taste to resemble me.... Consider his thoughtfulness in providing me
this cab! What'd I've done without it? To tell the truth I was quite at
a loss to frame it up, how to win your coy consent to this giddy
elopement, back there in the hall. But dear kind Mis-ter Maitland,
bless his innocent heart! fixes it all up for me.... And so," concluded
the criminal with ironic relish,--"and so I've got _you_, my lady."
He looked at her in sidelong fashion, speculative, calculating,
relentless. And she bowed her head, assenting, "Yes--"
"You're dead right, little woman. Got you. Um-mmm."
She made no reply; she could have made none aside from raising an
outcry, although now she was regaining something of her shattered
poise, and with it the ability to accept the situation quietly, for a
little time (she could not guess how long she could endure the strain),
pending an opportunity to turn the tables on this, her persecutor.
"What is it," she said presently, with some effort--"what is it you
wish with me?"
"I have my purpose," with a grim smile.
"You will not tell me?"
"You've guessed it, my lady; I will not--just yet. Wait a bit."