“You have a message for me?”
“None,” he declared.
“She refuses—to be reconciled, then?”
“I am afraid she has no friendly feelings towards you.”
“She gave you no reason?”
“No direct reason,” he admitted, “but her attitude is—quite uncompromising.”
She rose and swept across the floor towards him. With firm but gentle fingers she took his worn bowler hat and mended gloves from his hand. Her gesture guided him towards a sofa.
“Beatrice has prejudiced you against me,” she murmured. “It is not fair. Please come and sit down—for five minutes,” she pleaded. “I want you to tell me why you have quarrelled with that funny little man, Mr. Dowling.”
“But, madam,—” he protested.
“If you refuse, I shall think that my sister has been telling you stories about me,” she declared, watching him closely.