The thing rankled in him for days. Indeed Sophy had cause to remember the visit of the Crown Prince of Blauethürme in more ways than one; for there was a "stag dinner" given him towards the end of his stay at Newport, and Loring was one of the hosts. It is hard to leave a "stag dinner" in perfect equipoise of mind and body, especially when its chief guest is a Royalty who chooses to remain until dawn, and shows a truly regal prowess with the wine-cup. Loring returned at five o'clock and demanded to enter Sophy's room. She had locked the door. She came to it when she heard his voice, but refused to open it.
"Damn it! Do you turn me from your door like a beggar?" he called angrily, rattling the knob.
"Don't talk so loud, Morris.... You'll be dreadfully sorry for losing your temper like this to-morrow.... You'll be glad I wouldn't let you in...."
He was quite frantic.
"Some fine day you'll shut me out too often, my lady!" he raged at her.
"Morris! The servants will hear you. Do go!"
"All right. But you won't always be able to whistle me to heel when you want to.... I give you that straight."
He laughed coarsely. His state showed more in his laughter than in his speaking voice.
She had never known him as bad as this. Her very soul felt sick and faint under it. She heard him muttering as he went off along the corridor to his own room. She went back to bed trembling. She thought there must be some way to stop it. She sat there in the chill August dawn, thinking, thinking.