Allan took a quick turn up and down the room. That shy and timorous glance had moved him strangely, as did the faltering words which followed it.
“Suppose he had killed you!” she added, with a little gasp of horror at the thought.
“But he didn’t,” said Allan, coming back to her. “So what’s the use of supposing anything of the sort?”
“Dad says he’ll be sure to try it again. Dad says—”
“Dad says altogether too much,” broke in Allan. “Now, see here, Mamie, I’m not going to have you worried like this. Wait till I see your father!”
“Oh, but I want him to tell me! If you’re in danger, I want to know it!”
“But I’m not in any danger—as for that affair with Hummel, it happened so long ago that I’d nearly forgotten it.”
“So long ago!” cried Mamie. “Why, it was only this evening!”
“Well, so much has happened since. Mamie, I’m worried to death,” he added, with sudden weakness. “The queerest thing happened to-night you ever heard of.”
“Tell me about it,” said Mamie, her face glowing with pleasure at this call for sympathy and help; and she patted the lounge invitingly. I fear there was some instinct of the coquette in Mamie, or she would not have done that! Some true womanly instinct, too, or she would not have so welcomed this chance to be of help.