“What shall I say—what shall I do?” moaned Louise.
“Uncle, uncle, pray don’t do this. You must not send for the police. Give me time to explain—to set you right.”
“Shame upon you!” cried the old man fiercely. “Defending such a scoundrel as that!”
“No, no, uncle, I do not defend this man. Listen to me; you do not know what you are doing.”
“Not know what I am doing? Ah!”
He turned from her in disgust, and with a look of agony that thrilled him, she caught Leslie’s arm.
“You will listen to me, Mr Leslie. You must not, you shall not, call in the police.”
He did not speak for the moment, but stood hesitating as if yielding to her prayer; but the frown deepened upon his brow as he loosened her grasp upon his arm.
“It is for your good,” he said coldly, “to save you from a man like that.”
“I must speak, I must speak!” cried Louise, and then she uttered a wail of horror, and shrank to her uncle’s side.