In her moment of exaltation, Yetta had almost forgotten the existence of her fiancé. His brusque manner broke into her mood with a suddenness which dazed her. He had led her down the hall, nearly to the door, before she could collect her wits. Beyond the door was the dark night and helplessness and unknown fear. Here in the hall was the woman who had been in the Settlement, the woman of whom she was not afraid.
"Wait," she said. "I want to talk to Miss Train."
In all that hostile environment, Miss Train's silent disdain had been the most outspoken. Harry would rather have had Yetta talk with Rachel. Rachel at least was afraid of him.
"Come on," he growled, and jerked her nearer to the door.
"No, no. I want to stop."
"Don't you begin to holler," he hissed, with a rough jerk. He tried to subdue her with his hard eyes. "Come on. Don't you make no row. Don't you holler."
They were close to the dark doorway now, and somehow Yetta could not find breath to scream out her fright. He pushed her roughly out into the vestibule. But his progress came to a sudden stop. Some one caught him by the collar and swung him off his feet.
"Not so fast, my man." It was Longman. "Where are you trying to take this young lady?"
Harry's free hand made an instinctive movement towards his hip pocket, but Longman's hand got there first.
"Oh, ho!" he said softly. "Concealed weapons?"