"Well, the party in question," said he, with his set smile, "seems to
have a certain prejudice against me. She refuses to speak to me, in
fact,--why, I cannot imagine. All the same, I am, and always have been,
her sincere well-wisher. And after earnest thought, I honestly feel sure
that her friends would make no mistake if they urged her not to let slip
this--ahem--well-deserved promotion. I thought," he added, his gaze a
threat now, "I'd better bring the point to your attention."
Charles's fixed eyes did not waver. But before them there unrolled a
thin gray mist, briefly shutting the principal from his sight. The mist
queerly turned red, and became shot with fiery sparks. Then all cleared;
and, behind him, the young man's hand felt for, and touched, the open
door. Gently, moving only his arm, he shut it. And it seemed to him that
he must be turning white inside.
"You," said he, "are more used to insulting women than I am."
Mysinger flung up a deprecating hand. "Tut, tut, my dear sir! Talk of
that sort does no good whatever, I assure you. You would do well to look
at the matter in a sensible way, and believe that I speak--_Here!
What're you doing there?_"
The principal had suddenly heard a strange sound: the click of his own
key in his own lock, in fine. At the same time, his visitor was observed
to be regarding him with a new and peculiar intentness, arresting and
significant. And his only reply to his host's indignant inquiry was to
drop the key in question in his coat-pocket.
Now Mary's old conqueror, and his own, had straightened from that
lounging swagger. His voice rang more angrily: "You--! What do you think
you're up to, anyway--?"
"I think I'm going to beat you to a pulp," said the author,--"_you
puppy_!"
And he started forward with a kind of bound, like one who goes to fill,
at last, a long-felt need.