“Well, Miss Robson, you might just as well make up your mind to finish that glass of wine first as last.  We’re not going to have the next course until you do.”

She measured him deliberately.  She knew now that it was to be a fight to a finish.  She was honestly afraid and full of the courage of realization.

“I’ve had enough as it is, Mr. Flint.  Besides, we must either be getting to work or figuring how I am to make the boat at Sausalito.  I suppose you could send me in the car ... with Jerry.”

“Oh, with Jerry?  So that’s it!...  No, not on your life!  He’s too good-looking a boy for a job like that.  No, Miss Robson, you are going to stay right here....  Now, understand me, I’m not a damn fool!  You seem to have an idea that because I’ve had a glass or two that I’ve lost my reason.  You’re an attractive girl and all that, Miss Robson, and I am interested in you!  But please don’t flatter yourself that I’m staking everything on a throw like this.  As a matter of fact, I’ll see that you are properly chaperoned.  We’ve plenty of neighbors.  You’ve got the best excuse in the world for staying here and....”

“But, my dear Mr. Flint, can’t you see, I....”

“No, I can’t.  I want you to stay here.  My reasons are as good as yours.  Now let’s get that off our mind and enjoy the meal.”

His manner struck her protests to the ground again.  She was no longer fearing the immediate outcome, in fact, she never had, but she knew that if he broke her to his will now, all the safeguards, all the chaperons, all the conventions in the world wouldn’t save her from ultimate consequences.  This was the try-out that was to establish her pace in the final contest; she would stand or fall upon the record she made at this moment.  For she was trying out something more than Flint’s temper, something greater than a mechanical adjustment of human relationships—­she was trying out herself.  She sat for some moments, thinking hard, one hand fingering the slender base of the wine-filled glass in front of her, the other dropped in pensive limpness at her side.  Flint had cleared the space in front of him of everything but his two wine-glasses.  He had slipped down in his seat and his two bloodshot eyes were fixing her with a level stare.

She stirred finally and rose.

He was on his feet in an instant.

“I’m going to telephone,” she said, calmly.

“Telephone ... where?...  What’s the idea?”

“Mr. Flint,” she answered, a bit wearily, “at least I’m a guest in your house, am I not?”