Tristram felt his heart stop beating for a second—strong man as he was. Miladi had not come in!—But as they spoke, he perceived her on the landing below, hurrying up—she had not waited to get the lift—and he went down to meet her, while Henriette returned to her room.
"Where have you been?" he demanded, with a pale, stern face. He was too angry and suspicious to let her pass in silence, and he noticed her cheeks were flushed with nervous excitement and that she was out of breath; and no wonder, for she had run up the stairs.
"I cannot wait to tell you now," she panted. "And what right have you to speak to me so? Let me pass, or I shall be late."
"I do not care if you are late, or no. You shall answer me!" he said furiously, barring the way. "You bear my name, at all events, and I have a right because of that to know."
"Your name?" she said, vaguely, and then for the first time she grasped that there was some insulting doubt of her in his words.
She cast upon him a look of withering scorn, and, with the air of an empress commanding an insubordinate guard, she flashed:
"Let me pass at once!"
But Tristram did not move, and for a second they glared at one another, and she took a step forward as if to force her way. Then he angrily seized her in his arms. But at that moment Francis Markrute came out of his room and Tristram let her go—panting. He could not make a scene, and she went on, with her head set haughtily, to her room.
"I see you have been quarreling again," her uncle said, rather irritably: and then he laughed as he went down.
"I expect she will be late," he continued; "well, if she is not in the hall at five minutes to eight, I shall go on."