She broke off abruptly. There was a pause choked with those dizzy pulsations that fill moments of silence and strain. Then with a sob she flung herself against his breast and buried her face in his shoulder. "Don't answer!" she cried. "I'm ashamed of myself. I'm ashamed—ashamed!"
He put his arm about her shoulders. "But why shouldn't I answer?" said he in the kindly gentle tone we can all assume when a matter that agitates some one else is wholly indifferent to us.
"Because—it was a—a trap," she answered hysterically. "Fred—there was a man here this afternoon—a man named Tetlow. He got in only because he said he came from you."
Norman laughed quietly. "Poor Tetlow!" he said. "He used to be your head clerk—didn't he?"
"And one of my few friends."
"He's not your friend, Fred!" she cried, sitting upright and speaking with energy that quivered in her voice and flashed in her fine brown eyes. "He's your enemy—a snake in the grass—a malicious, poisonous——"
Norman's quiet, even laugh interrupted. "Oh, no," said he. "Tetlow's a good fellow. Anything he said would be what he honestly believed—anything he said about me."
"He pleaded that he was doing it for your good," she went on with scorn. "They always do—like the people that write father wicked anonymous letters. He—this man Tetlow—he said he wanted me for the sake of my love for you to save you from yourself."
Norman glanced at her with amused eyes. "Well, why don't you? But then you are doing it. You're marrying me, aren't you?"
Again she put her head upon his shoulder. "Indeed I am!" she cried. "And I'd be a poor sort if I let a sneak shake my confidence in you."