The younger man could no longer contain himself. "Oh, she told us you were here!" he cried.
"Tottie!"
"It's a lie!—a lie!" She swept past him, her face ugly with resentment. And to Clare, "Don't you let this feller put anything over on you, kid."
"All right, madam! All right!" Wallace's fingers twitched. He was ready to thrust her from the room.
She went, with a backward look intended to reduce him; and shut the door. As he followed, opening the door to find that she was actually gone, and leaning out to see her whereabouts farther along the hall, she broke into a raucous laugh.
"Rubber!" she taunted. "Rubber!"
When he had shut the door again, and faced about, he kept hold of the
knob, as if supported by it. "I—I felt you'd like to know, Miss
Crosby," he commenced, forcing himself to speak evenly, "that Mr.
Farvel is over there at the Rectory."
"Oh!" She put a hand to her head, waited a moment, then—"I—I thought—maybe when—I saw you."
"I knew that was why you left." He was more at ease now, and came toward her. "Do you want to see him?"
"No! No!" She put out both hands, pleadingly. "I don't want anything to do with him! I don't want him to know I'm in New York. Promise me! Promise!"