"Are you really afraid of that chap?"
"I have good reason to be," she said quietly. She sat down in her chair again, rested her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands, in the pose already so familiar to him, and added quietly, "He is the source of all my present trouble."
She stopped and turned her head to listen.
"Do you hear anything moving in the hall?" she asked, almost in a whisper.
"No. Shall I look?"
She shook her head. "Don't unbolt the door."
"You're nervous. I'm sure there's nothing there. Please go on," he urged. "Our little friend Bertie—"
Seeing her expression, he stopped short. "Forgive me," he said, humbly. "But the plain truth is, it's awfully hard for me to take that fellow seriously. Oh, I know he's venomous," he conceded, "but I can't help feeling that he hasn't as much power over you as you think he has."
He realized that she was listening, but not to him.
"There is some one outside that door!" she whispered.