"But I must. 'Duke, do open the door. I have something of the utmost importance to say to you."
After a moment or two I can hear him coming slowly to the door. In another instant he has unlocked it, and is standing in the doorway in an attitude that is plainly meant to bar my further approach.
"Won't you let me in?" I say. "I want to speak to you; I have something to tell you."
Here I make a dive under the arm he had placed against one side of the door as a prudent barricade, and gain the dressing-room. Having so far succeeded, I pause to glance timidly at him.
He has divested himself of his coat and waistcoat, and has evidently been brushing his hair, as it is smooth to the last degree and has about it a general air of being ready to enter a ball-room at a moment's notice.
"You might be going to a reception, your hair is so beautifully dressed," I say, with a weak attempt at raillery and composure.
"Did you nearly break down the door to come and tell me that?" asked he, without a vestige of a smile.
Once again my eyes seek the carpet. All my affected nonchalance deserts me. I feel frightened. Never before has his voice sounded go harsh when addressed to me. I put my hands behind me, and grasp nervously the torrent of hair that flows down my back. For the second time it occurs to me how abominably young I must be looking. Somehow the word "Doll" writes itself before my lowered eyes.
"No," I say, in a whisper. "I came to ask you to forgive me to tell you I am very sorry for it all."
"Are you? I am glad of that. In my opinion you could not be too sorry."