She had the poise of one who had
learned to depend on her own resolute spirit. But she displayed
something more than that. It was recklessness that was bravado. In the
eyes of the State chairman, friend of Thornton, and accustomed to a
milder form of femininity, it was impudence. Yet her beauty made its
appeal to him. The old man lunged toward her, but the politician seized
his arm.
"Thelismer," he protested, "you are going too far. I don't know the
girl, or what the main trouble is, but you're acting like a
ten-year-old."
Thelismer Thornton knew it, and the knowledge added to his helpless
rage. He pulled himself out of Presson's grasp.
He began to revile the girl in language that made Presson set his little
eyes open and purse his round mouth.
"Damn it, you don't understand," roared the Duke, whirling on his
friend. Presson had faced him at last with protest that stung. "I know
it's no kind of talk to use to any one. I'm no ruffian. I'm ashamed to
have to use it. But the other kind don't work--not with her.
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