A moment later, in the gloom, Thérèse's wide chiffon sleeve caught on something.
"Be careful—what is that?"
The little table toppled over with a crash. At almost the same instant, it seemed, the door to the dining-room was flung open and dazzling light poured down upon them from the central chandelier. In the doorway Roger stood regarding them.
It was one of those moments when there is simply nothing to say.
Explanations would only aggravate a situation already impossible.
Utterly confused, Holliday automatically straightened his tie, while
Thérèse, seated, smoothed her tumbled hair and stared at the intruder
with horror-stricken eyes. For several seconds no one spoke.
Roger, indeed, felt powerless to make any comment. After the first shock of discovery he was dumb from sheer fury. Indignant beyond words at what seemed to him a rank insult to his father, the emotion he felt struck to the very root of his being. For the moment he saw red. At last he addressed Holliday.
"Get out!" he commanded, and pointed to the door.
The young man had by now recovered a slight degree of his usual poise.
His eyebrows lifted with a touch of arrogance.
"Steady on. What right have you got to order me out of this house?"
"Never you mind what right I've got," Roger blazed at him, but keeping his voice low. "You get out, or I'll throw you out. You've heard me."
Holliday looked at Thérèse, who, pale and shaken, nodded slightly.