"You've been beating me too regularly, but I'll let you do it again. Maybe La Mothe and O'Mera will be around." Cantor walked out. As he got into his car he shrugged his shoulders and smiled. CHAPTER IX As the door of the hangar closed behind them Herman von Essen seized Hildegarde's arm roughly and propelled her toward his waiting limousine. He was a burly, powerful man and lifted her almost from the ground. She presented a spectacle similar to that of a naughty little girl being led by the ear; she trotted along on tiptoe with a consciousness that she offered a most undignified spectacle. People fail to reckon with the sense of dignity of the young; it is very strong, and there is no surer way to kindle their fury than to make them appear undignified. Hildegarde's cheeks were white, but her eyes, half closed, were cold light flashed in reflection from steel; she bit her lip to restrain a cry of pain. Her father breathed heavily, noisily. She was aware that the chauffeur, out of the corner of his eye, missed nothing of the spectacle. "Let go my arm!" she said, fiercely. He only shook her a little and shoved her forward. "You're hurting my arm! Let go!" She wanted to strike him, to scream, to bite and scratch, but she knew she was helpless in his great hands. She knew it was futile to struggle with him or to appeal to him, she knew his rage was the equal of her own in intensity, but she knew it was a brutal rage, a rage which, if further provoked, might relieve itself by some unthinkable action.... He was capable of thrashing her. She knew it, but it was not fear of him that held her passive; it was the effort to maintain some vestige of dignity. He pushed her to the step of the car and, reaching over her shoulder, jerked open the door. "My car--is here," she said. He did not reply, but shoved her headlong into the limousine. She fell on hands and knees, and he did not help her to arise. She scrambled to her feet and sat in the corner of the seat, pressing as far away from her father as possible, avoiding any contact with him. He shut the door with a slam and was silent except for his noisy breathing. Both of them looked straight ahead, and no word was spoken during the drive to their home. When the car stopped and the chauffeur opened the door, von Essen lumbered out and stood waiting. "Get out," he said, roughly, not offering to assist her. She stepped out, drawing away from him as she passed, and ran up the steps. "Wait," he commanded, and she stopped. He approached her and reached again for her arm, but she avoided him. "Don't touch me!... Don't dare to touch me!" she panted. "Go to your room," he ordered. "Don't leave it without my permission, or I'll lock you in.... Don't leave this house again. Don't step out of the door. If you do--"