The spell was broken, the old uncertainty, the wavering, was present again. "I—oh, let me think. To-morrow—I'll tell you to-morrow."
She stepped—it was almost a flight—to the door, and opened it. In the dining room, hat in hand, stood Bonbright Foote. Dulac saw, too.
"What does he want here?" he demanded, savagely.
"I don't know."
"I'll find out. It's no good to you he intends."
"Mr. Dulac!" she said, and faced him a moment. He stopped, furious though he was. She stopped him. She held him…. There was a strength in her that he had not realized. Her utterance of his name was a command and a rebuke.
"I know his kind," Dulac said, sullenly. "Let me throw him out."
"Please sit down," she said. "I want to bring him in here. I know him better than you—and I think your side misunderstands him. It may do some good."
She stepped into the dining room. "Mr. Foote," she said.
He was embarrassed, ill at ease. "Miss Frazer," he said, with boyish hesitation, "you don't want to see me—you have no reason to do anything but—despise me, I guess. But I had to come. I found your address and came as quickly as I could."