"I've no doubt you will too," he said indifferently.
"How dare you?" I cried angrily.
We were facing each other, glaring at each other with the ferocity of bitter enemies. For the first time, I took in the details of his appearance, the close-cropped dark head, the lean jaw, the scar on the brown cheek, the curious light grey eyes that looked into mine with a sort of reckless mockery hard to describe. There was something dangerous about him.
"You haven't thanked me yet for saving your life?" I said with false sweetness.
I hit him there. I saw him flinch distinctly. Intuitively I knew that he hated above all to be reminded that he owed his life to me. I didn't care. I wanted to hurt him. I had never wanted to hurt any one so much.
"I wish to God you hadn't!" he said explosively. "I'd be better dead and out of it."
"I'm glad you acknowledge the debt. You can't get out of it. I saved your life and I'm waiting for you to say 'Thank you.'"
If looks could have killed, I think he would have liked to kill me then. He pushed roughly past me. At the door he turned back, and spoke over his shoulder.
"I shall not thank you—now or at any other time. But I acknowledge the debt. Some day I will pay it."
He was gone, leaving me with clenched hands, and my heart beating like a mill race.
