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He let his eye drift insolently over her and take stock of his

prey, in the same feline way of a cat with a mouse, gloating over

her distress and the details of her young good looks. His tainted

gaze got the faint pure touch of color in her face, the reddish

tinge of her wavy brown hair, the desirable sweetness of her

rounded maidenhood. If her step dragged, if dusky hollows

shadowed her lids, if the native courage had been washed from the

hopeless eyes, there was no spring of manliness hid deep within

him that rose to refresh her exhaustion. No pity or compunction

stirred at her sweet helplessness.

"Do you want my money?" she asked wearily.

"I'll take that to begin with."

She tossed him her purse. "There should be seventy dollars there.

May I have a drink now?"

"Not yet, my dear. First you got to come up to me and put your

arms round--"