she had darted out with this doll-man whom he wouldn't have her
touch with the end of a pole. There was a limit to all things, and
he had come to it.

"You're coming home," he said.

"Marty, but I can't. Gilbert Palgrave--"

"Gilbert Palgrave be damned. You're coming home, I tell you, if I
have to carry you out."

She laughed. This was a new Marty, a high-handed, fiery Marty--one
who must not be encouraged. "Are you often like this?" she asked.

"Be careful. I've had enough, and if you don't want me to smash this
place up and cause a riot, you'll do what I tell you."

Her eyes flashed back at him, and two angry spots of color came into
her cheeks. He was out of control. She realized that. She had never
in her life seen any one so out of control--unaccountable as she
found it. That he would smash up the place and cause a riot she knew
instinctively. She put up no further opposition. If anything were to
be avoided, it was a scene, and in her mind's eye she could see
herself being carried out by this plunging boy, with a yard of
stocking showing and the laughter of every one ringing in her ears.
No, no, not that! She began to look for Palgrave, with her mind all
alert and full of a mischievous desire to turn the tables on Martin.
He must be shown quickly that if any one gave orders, she did.

He danced her to the edge of the floor, led her panting through the