Peter eyed her in disgust. "You're as big a fool as my Lena," he said. "Come on, Lena."
As Lena was leaving the room, she gave Hilda a malignant glance. "He's MY husband," she said spitefully, "and you're—well, I wouldn't want to say what you are."
"Move!" shouted Ganser, pushing her out of the room. His parting shot at Hilda was: "Ask him."
Hilda, still holding the photograph, stared at the doorway through which they had disappeared. "You lie!" she repeated, as if they were still there. Then again, a little catch in her voice: "You lie!" And after a longer interval, a third time, with a sob in her throat: "You lie! I know you lie!" She sat at the table and held the photograph before her. She kissed it passionately, gazed long at it, seeing in those bold handsome features all that her heart's love believed of him.
Suddenly she started up, went rapidly down the side hall and out into the street. Battling with her doubts, denouncing herself as disloyal to him, she hurried up the Avenue and across the Square and on until she came to his lodgings. When she asked for him the maid opened the parlor door and called through the crack: "Mr. Feuerstein, a lady wants to see you."
As the maid disappeared down the basement stairs, Mr. Feuerstein appeared. At sight of her he started back. "Hilda!" he exclaimed theatrically, and frowned.
"Don't be angry with me," she said humbly. "I wouldn't have come, only—"
"You must go at once!" His tone was abrupt, irritated.
"Yes—I will. I just wanted to warn you—" She raised her eyes appealingly toward his face. "Two people came to see me to-night—Mr. Ganser and his daughter—"
Feuerstein fell back a step and she saw that he was shaking and that his face had become greenish white. "It's false!" he blustered. "False as hell!—"