"You won't do any such thing, my little ruffled birdling," he cut in, an angry light leaping up into his eyes, adding: "I am disposed to treat you very kindly, but you seem determined to make an enemy of me instead of a friend, my dear, and your reason ought to tell you how foolish that is. Come, be sensible and listen to me. I've taken a violent fancy to that pretty face of yours. We must be friends--excellent friends. That's a good beginning, you know." Margery glanced toward the door, the fright deepening in her eyes. He had placed himself between her and the door, kicking it to with his foot. He saw that quick glance, and read it aright, and his brow darkened. "Don't be a little fool!" he cried. "Don't anger me, girl. You had better make a friend instead of an enemy of me." "Your enmity or friendship is a matter of equal indifference to me now," gasped Margery, sobbing bitterly. "You have slain my respect for you. I--I am sorry--sorry from the bottom of my heart--that I realize you have fallen from such a noble height in my estimation." "That's all bosh and moonshine," hiccoughed Kendale; "respect and high pedestal of honor and all that sort of thing. You're among the clouds; get down to earth. I'm only a man--you mustn't take me for a little god. Come, now, what in the name of reason is the use of making such a fuss over this thing, and storming like an angry princess on the stage because I tell you frankly that I've taken a notion to you. By George, you ought to be mighty pleased to know that you've captured the fancy of a man like me, with no end of money at my command. Do you realize that, little one?" The girl's terror was growing intense with each passing moment. Her horror and dread of the man before her was a thousand-fold greater at that moment than her admiration for Lester Armstrong had been in days gone by. He seemed to her a different being in the same form--one suddenly transformed from all that was manly and noble to a very fiend incarnate. An awful stillness had fallen over the girl--a full realization of the meaning of his jocular remarks was just dawning upon her. She was looking at him with the awful pallor of death on her lovely young face. "Come, my pretty Margery," he cried, quite mistaking the reason that her struggle to free herself from his clasping hand had so suddenly ceased; "now you are falling into a more complaisant mood. I am glad of that. Sit down and we'll talk. I must lock that door, or some blundering fool will be stumbling in without taking the trouble to knock. But first give me a kiss from those sweet lips, my dear, to assure me you don't quite dislike me, you know." As he spoke he flung his arm about the girl's slender waist, and it was then that Margery's piercing scream rang out so loudly upon her father's ears, fairly electrifying him as he stood with his hand upon the knob of the door of the private office. CHAPTER XX. A FATHER'S RIGHTEOUS INDIGNATION