"Not in a thousand years," said Ronicky.

She laid her hand on the door and drew it back--it struck his
shoulder--and Ronicky gave way with a groan and stood with his head
bowed. Inwardly he cursed himself. Doubtless she was used to men who
bullied her, as if she were another man of an inferior sort. Doubtless
she despised him for his weakness. But, though he gritted his teeth,
he could not make himself firm. Those old lessons which sink into a
man's soul in the West came back to him and held him. In the helpless
rage which possessed him he wanted battle above all things in the
world. If half a dozen men had poured through the doorway he would
have rejoiced. But this one girl was enough to make him helpless.

He looked up in amazement. She had not gone; in fact, she had closed
the door slowly and stood with her back against it, staring at him in
a speechless bewilderment.

"What sort of a man are you?" asked the girl at last.

"A fool," said Ronicky slowly. "Go out and round up your friends; I
can't stop you."

"No," said the girl thoughtfully, "but that was a poor bluff at
stopping me."

He nodded. And she hesitated still, watching his face closely.

"Listen to me," she said suddenly. "I have two minutes to talk to you,
and I'll give you those two minutes. You can use them in getting out