“Don’t, don’t, don’t let him go!” she cried, “Chris, for Heaven’s sake——!”
He made the fatal mistake of trying to argue with her. He was quiet and reasonable, and she aped his manner to perfection. Argued with him, the distorted and plausible arguments of a madwoman, became quiet, scornful. She involved him in a maze, bewildered and confounded him, and made it more and more difficult for him to keep his temper.
Alec gave him sound advice.
“It’s no use talking to her,” he said. “She never listens.”
They all became violent and rude. Sandra waked up and came running in, barefooted, wide-eyed, pale, stood listening for a long time. Then the baby began to cry again and Minnie hurried to it, but when Alec tried to escape downstairs, she flew after him, baby in arms, and again barred his way.
An awful night! Mr. Petersen unlocked his office and sat down with a great sigh. Never suspecting the far more awful night that was drawing in upon him. The climax, which so strangely and regularly occurs in human affairs, the definite point of departure, of division between the old days and the new, was approaching. His doom drew near.
He had just begun to lose himself in his business papers when there was a rap at the door. It was too early for Miss Layne; he was rather surprised; he called out “Come in!” and the instrument of fate entered.
It was Frances.
He was astonished and pleased. He had always admired Frances. He brought forward a chair.
“Miss Defoe!” he exclaimed. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you!”