He entered a narrow hall, lighted by a “Turkish” lamp, a pierced iron sort of thing, in which a feeble jet of gas burned. His guide turned to the right and lighted another gas jet, revealing a vast drawing-room, all the furniture shrouded in covers.
“Sit down,” she said, pleasantly. “I’m sorry you had to wait so long, but we go to bed very early, and the servants can’t hear the bell, up on the third floor.”
He asked again for Miss Defoe; he had no interest in anything else.
“I’m Miss Defoe,” said she. “What can I do for you?”
He scarcely looked at her.
“I’ve come to see——” he said, “to try to influence you if possible to——”
“I suppose to go back and let Frankie come to the city again,” she interposed. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do it.”
“I don’t think you realised what you were doing,” he said. “If you had, you wouldn’t—you couldn’t—have cut us off this way, without any warning. It was—absolutely inhuman. Did you know that your sister and I intended to be married?”
“She mentioned it,” said Minnie.
Her calmness infuriated him.