“Why?” he insisted.
“If it has to be,” I muttered from my refuge, “you--O, don’t ask me!”
“Why?” he said.
“Well, of twenty evils, choose the best-looking.”
He gave a low chuckle.
“Come along, where we can be private,” said he, and put a hand on me;
but I started back, affecting an agony of shame.
“O! what have I said--what promised? Let me go. Don’t think any more
of it.”
“Won’t I?” he said; and added threateningly: “You’ve given your
promise, remember.”