"I beg pardon, Miss Harding," I began. "I am—"
She rose to her feet, the book falling to the floor. Her pretty head was erect, her shoulders thrown back, her eyes flashing and her face deadly pale.
"Do not address me, sir!" she exclaimed, drawing away from me as if I were some repulsive animal.
I stood transfixed! I knew she was not dissembling. I could not think; I could not speak! The floor seemed flying beneath my feet, and I must have reeled.
"Leave me, sir! Leave me, sir, and never speak to me again!"
My voice came back to me.
"But, Miss Harding, there must be some mistake!" I stammered. "I beg of you—"
"There is no mistake!" she cried with intense bitterness, pushing past me. "If you were a gentleman you would grant the last request I shall ever ask of you!"
I stood as in a trance and watched her sweep proudly from out the room. I fell back into the chair she had vacated. I do not know how long I remained there or what tumultuous thoughts crashed against me like breakers storm-lashed on a rock-girt shore; I only know that my man found me there and told me that my train was due in fifteen minutes.
I went to my room and changed my golf for a travelling suit. The next I remember is that I was on the train rushing toward the city.