"Are you?"
"You bet!" And he swept her lips with his; then he dropped her and he ran downstairs.
She closed her door, carefully bolting it. She turned off the radio, which was squawking that the station, which had just entertained with song, was Los Angeles.
She was roused and flushed from the hot ravage of her lips and his embrace of her body. She was aquiver with offense at his physical overpowering of her. She wanted no more of it; if he came to her door again, she would keep it closed between him and her; if he forced a way in, she would drive him away. But she did not drive away the idea of him.
On the contrary, she cherished it, while she undressed, atremble from the violence of his arms. She hummed his new tune and fancied him at his piano playing to her.
She switched off her light, flung wide her window, gazing up at the moon, and she slipped into bed. It was soft and very comfortable, this bed of hers which Dads provided; the sheets which touched her were of fine linen.
She pushed the cover away from her with a shiver of shame which often seized her at the end of a day. This day, Dads had said, had proved propitious; and she dreaded nothing so much as the results of a day reported by him to be propitious.
At her memories of consequences following other propitious days, she winced and clenched her little hands, resolving to check his cheats and impositions by following him and watching him, and by warning his victims against him. But she knew, by experience, how Dads would elude her. Her only effective recourse would be to inform the police and have him locked up.
So her resolution failed, as had all her rebellions ex-
