Obviously he expected an argument; he
was leading her on. And just as obviously he wanted the argument
merely for the sake of killing time. He was in tremendous need of
amusement. That was all.
She wanted to go straight to him with a bitter appeal to his manhood,
to his mercy as a man. But she realized that this would not do at all.
A strenuous attack would simply rouse him. Therefore she called
up from some mysterious corner of her tormented heart a smile, or
something that would do duty as a smile. Strangely enough, no sooner
had the smile come than her whole mental viewpoint changed. It became
easy to make the smile real; half of her anxiety fell away. And
dropping one hand on her hip, she said cheerfully to McGuire.
"You look queer as a prison-guard, Mr. McGuire."
She made a great resolve, that moment, that if she were ever safely
through the catastrophe which now loomed ahead, she would diminish the
distance between her and her men and form the habit of calling them by
their first names. She could not change as abruptly in a moment, but
she understood perfectly, that if she had been able to call McGuire
by some foolish and familiar nickname, half of his strangeness would
immediately melt away.
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