Wallace gulped, looking about him at the carpet, like a creature in misery that would lie down.
Balcome was taking a turn about the room. "So she's gone," he said. "Too bad! Too bad! And no address." Presently, as he came close to the door again, he gave one half of it a sudden, wrenching pull. It opened, and disclosed Clare, crouched to listen, one knee on the floor.
"No! Don't!" It was Tottie, pretending to interfere.
"O-o-oh!" Clare scrambled to her feet. But contrary to what might have been expected, she almost hurled herself into the room, shut the door at her back, and stood against it.
Tottie addressed herself angrily to Balcome. "Say, look-a here! This ain't the way out!"
"My mistake," apologized Balcome. Then with a look at Wallace that was full of meaning, he retired to the hearth, planted his shoulders against the mantel at Tottie's favorite vantage point, and surveyed Clare. "We thought you were gone," he remarked good-naturedly. He bobbed at her, with a flop of the big hat against his leg.
She made no reply, only waited, breathing hard, her eyes now on
Wallace, now on Tottie. To the former, her glance was a warning.
He understood. "We'd—we'd like to see Miss Crosby alone," he said curtly, for by another wave of the hat Balcome had given him the initiative.
"Yes—go, Tottie."
Miss St. Clair turned, her gown trailing luxuriously. "I seem to be in the way today," she laughed, with an attempt at coquetry. Then to Clare, "I'm your friend, pettie. If you need me——"