“Go on,” she said coolly. “I am curious to hear the rest.”
Macheson suddenly intervened. He stepped between the two.
“This has gone far enough,” he said sternly. “Hurd, you are losing your head. You are saying things you will be sorry for afterwards. And I cannot allow you to speak like this to a woman—in my presence!”
“Let him go on,” Wilhelmina said calmly. “I am beginning to find him interesting.”
Hurd laughed fiercely.
“What!” he cried. “You want to hear of your ‘Apache’ lover, the man you took from the gutters of Paris into——”
Macheson struck him full across the mouth, but Wilhelmina caught at his arm. She had overestimated her courage or her strength—he was only just in time to save her from falling.
“Brute!” she muttered, and the colour fled from her cheeks like breath from a looking-glass.
Macheson laid her on the couch and rang the bell. Suddenly he realized that they were alone. From outside came the sound of wheels. He sprang up listening. Wilhelmina, too, opened her eyes. She waved him away feebly. He smiled back his comprehension.
“The servants are coming,” he said. “I can hear them. I promise you that if he catches the train, I will!”