Then she broke out into the last comic ditty, and had them worked up to a pitch of languid delight, when suddenly—so suddenly that her words came into the middle of the chorus (in which they all joined) and could be heard above it—she said, sharply:
“That’s enough. I’m tired. You can go.”
“Oh, but, by Jove! it’s early yet, Bella!” remonstrated the young lord.
“Early or late, I’m tired,” she retorted, with a smoldering savageness. “You haven’t been hanging by your heels or doing the big drop, or you’d be tired. Anyway, I’m tired of you. Baby, it’s time you were in bed. Good-night, all of you!”
“Come on, she’ll be in one of her tantrums in another moment,” said Sir Harry in an undertone.
They laughed, got their hats, and, wishing her good-night, sauntered out, his lordship lingering a moment to pay the bill—Seth eying the pile of gold, as the waiter deftly swept it up, with a keen hunger—and the two were left alone.
“Shut the door,” said Bella to the waiter; then, when it was closed behind him, she sank into the chair, and leaned her head on her hand.
Seth waited with the same impassive silence, and it almost seemed that she had forgotten him, when suddenly she raised her head and looked at him. Her face had grown pale and haggard, and there was a weary, worn look in her expressive eyes.
“Well?” she said. “What have you followed me for? How did you find me?”
He looked at her with an expression half-sullen, half-threatening.