For an instant, she lay against his shoulder, too astounded for protest.
Then her satin slippers began beating a furious tattoo and her small
fists pummeling him as her cheeks flamed and her mismatched eyes burst
into indignant fire. These demonstrations her brother ignored as he
carried her in effortless fashion out into the broad hall and half-way
down the stairs. She had ceased to struggle by that time and was gasping
in wordless wrath. But at the turn of the stairway into the lower hall
he paused and stood still, while their eyes met and locked in a brief,
hot duel of wills.

"Now," he inquired calmly, "shall this be the manner of your first
appearance before my secretary and butler, or will you make the rest of
the journey on your own power?"

For the first time she recovered her voice. It was a wild mingling of
frustrated wrath and outraged dignity, and for once she found that her
fluency had forsaken her. She had been taught--Hamilton had seen to
that--that when she spoke others should obey. She had not yet learned to
bow to even his autocracy.

"_Ham!_" she exclaimed tensely, though even now she spoke in a cautious
voice so that no echo might reach other ears. "Put me down! How dare
you?"

He did not answer the question; instead he asked another.

"Will you enter as mistress of the house or will you go in kicking?"

During a long defiant pause, their eyes held, both pairs unwavering;