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Force arbitrarily had settled into the chair next to little
Kathleen. His hard, impassive face wore a softer expression than was
usually to be observed there, and his voice, ordinarily brusque and
domineering, became ludicrously soft and wheedling.
"Come here, Kathleen. Sit on my knee. I've--I've got something pretty
for you."
Kathleen instantly lost her joyous, happy expression. Her eyes fell
and her manner betrayed unmistakable aversion to the august
petitioner.
"Thank you, Mr. Force," she muttered, and was guiltily conscious of
impoliteness. Frederick snickered. "I--I don't want to," she went on,
spurred to defiance by her brother's action.
"Why not?" demanded Mr. Force coaxingly.
"Oh--because," said Kathleen, almost surlily.
"Don't you like me, Kathleen?"
"Yes, sir," said she, but without enthusiasm.
"Would you like to see what I've got for you? All for yourself alone,
you know."
Kathleen couldn't resist. She betrayed the greediness that overcomes
all feminine antipathy. "What is it?" she asked guardedly.


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