“The young women of Jane Austen’s time didn’t get into this sort of scrape! At least—one thinks so. There was just a minute’s hesitation before they gave her a room. " "Make good your assertions," cried Trenchard, furiously, "or——" "To the proof," interrupted the stranger, calmly. Sorry to be so nosy. Mauled about!” She fell to rubbing her insulted lips savagely with the back of her hand. Each became frightfully aware of the other as a plastic energetic body, of the strong muscles of neck against cheek, of hands gripping shoulder-blade and waist. This did not tickle his vanity; on the contrary, it enlivened his terror, which is a phase of fascination.
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