“Perhaps I do not quite understand it myself. I have tried to explain why I did not speak in the first place.”
“But you have not been entirely frank with me, Miss Dugan,” he asserted. “You have not told me everything. I know you have a right to be reserved, but I am your friend, and you say you are alone in this great city. You must need a protector. You have not told me how you happened to come here, or if you are seeking work. You say your father left you no money. What can you do here?”
Frank was astounded to see her dark eyes fill with tears.
“I am going to explain just why I am in New York and how I came to be here. I told you that father persisted to the last in trying to force me to marry that man Jones, and I also told you that I suspected my father left money which fell into the hands of Jones. After father died that man——”
She stopped with a little gasp, her face turned very pale, and she sat rigid in her chair, staring with fear-filled eyes at a man who was advancing hastily across the room toward the table.
That man was—Jones!
Frank recognized the fellow at once as the smug-faced rascal whom he had first seen in the guise of a country parson in company with Hilda Dugan on the little lake steamer far away in Maine.
There was a look of triumph and exultation on the face of the man, whose eyes were fastened upon Hilda Dugan as he rapidly approached the table. She shrank back and seemed about to utter a cry of fear, which, however, she repressed.
Merry started to rise quickly and step between her and Jones, but she caught him by the arm, whispering:
“Sit still! He has found me, but he will not dare touch me. Don’t make a scene, please!”