It was not possible. Jake followed her, grim as Fate, and in desperation she turned and faced him the moment she was in the room.
"Jake," she said, in a voice that quivered in spite of her, "I can't have you interfering with Bunny--punishing him--like this. It's too much."
Jake closed the door and stood against it. The sheer brute strength of the man had never been more forcibly apparent to her than at that moment; the thick, powerful neck and broad chest, the red-brown, lynx-like eyes, the merciless mouth, all seemed to mock her openly, exulting over her, dominating her.
Like Bunny she clenched her hands, meeting the straight gaze of those glittering eyes with the defiance born of conscious impotence. "And another thing!" she said. "I wish you wouldn't come into the house in that horrible wild West attire. You look worse than any stable-hand. I don't know how you can expect Bunny to be civilized with such an example before him."
She paused a moment, but, as he said nothing, rushed blindly on, finding silence intolerable.
"You come in at all hours in the day with your horrible clay pipe and vile tobacco. You behave like a farm labourer; you use hateful language to the men; and still you take it upon you to--to mete out punishment to Bunny, because he has picked up, doubtless from you, an expression that is a household word in your daily life!"
She stopped, for Jake had made an abrupt movement as if her fierce words had somehow pierced a joint in his armour.
He came squarely forward, took his pipe from his mouth and knocked out the half-burned contents into the grate. She turned to watch him, feeling her heart racing like a runaway engine. And, so turning, her eyes fell upon a letter that lay upon the table. She could not read the address, but in a flash she recognized the handwriting, and suddenly the mad racing of her heart died down, so that it did not seem to be beating at all.
Swiftly, while Jake was still intent upon his pipe, she reached across the table and picked up the letter. Her fingers felt the crest on the back of the envelope as she slipped it into her dress. She had fallen into the habit of walking to meet the postman of late, but to-day the storm had made her miss him. She hoped--earnestly she hoped--that Jake had not chanced to see the letter. She was sure his eyes had not rested upon the table.
Her heart began to beat again with great leaps as Jake turned from the fireplace. She felt as if she had over-taxed her strength in opposing him, and yet now that she had begun she must go on,--she must!