But there were times when Bunny would not endure resistance, and this was one of them.  He simply ignored it, till abruptly she yielded to his mastery.  And then in a moment he was tender again.

“Why did you say that?” he said, bending low to look into her downcast face.  “Tell me why you said it!  Are you—­jealous—­by any chance?”

“Oh, no!” declared Toby with vehemence.  “No—­no—­no!”

“Then why?” he persisted.  Then with sudden intuition:  “You don’t like her, do you?”

Toby’s face was burning.  “It—­it’s she that doesn’t like me,” she said.

“Oh, that’s a mistake,” said Bunny, decidedly.  “Everyone likes you.”

She shook her head.  “She doesn’t.  She thinks I’m bad form, and I daresay she’s right.  She also thinks—­” she lifted her face suddenly, challenging him—­“she also thinks that I set out to catch you—­and succeeded.”

“She doesn’t!” declared Bunny.  “That’s rot—­damn’ rot!  You are not to say it.  She’s a very nice girl and ready to be friendly with you if you’ll let her.”

Toby made a rude face.  “I knew you were getting fond of her!  She’s pretty and stylish and—­and much more in your line than I am.  Why don’t you go and ask her to marry you?  She wouldn’t say No.”

She flung the words with a little quivering laugh.  She was trembling in his hold.

Bunny’s eyes had flashed to sudden anger.  He had taken her by the shoulders almost as if he would shake her.

“Toby, be quiet!” he commanded.  “Do you hear?  You’re going too far!  What do you mean by talking in this strain?  What has she done to you?”

“Nothing!” gasped back Toby, backing away from him in a vain effort to escape.  “She hardly knows me even.  It’s just instinct with her and she can’t help it.  But she likes you well enough not to want you to marry me.  You don’t suppose—­you don’t suppose—­” the words came breathlessly, jerkily—­“you—­you really don’t suppose, do you, that—­that she made that suggestion about a season in town for my sake?”

“What other reason could she have had?” demanded Bunny sternly.

Toby was laughing, but her laughter had a desperate sound.  “How green you are!  Must I really tell you that?”

“Yes.  Go on!  Tell me!” His voice was hard.  Hard also was the grip of his hands.  He knew that in the moment he released her she would turn and flee like a fleeing hare.

There was fear in the blue eyes that looked up to his, but they held a glare of defiance as well.  Her small white teeth showed clenched between her laughing lips.

“Go on!  Tell me!” he reiterated.  “You shan’t go—­I swear—­until you tell me.”

“Think I’m—­think I’m afraid of you?” challenged Toby, with boyish bravado.

“I think you’ll answer me,” he said, and abruptly his tone fell level, dead level.  He looked her straight in the eyes without anger, without mercy.  “And you’ll answer me now, too.  What other reason could Miss Melrose have for making that suggestion if it was not intended for your benefit?  Now answer me!”