"Will you do me the favor to step into the little reception-room to the right for a moment?" said Courtland, addressing the man, but looking at Gila.
"The devil we will!" said the man, glaring at him. "What right have you to ask a favor like that?"
But Courtland was looking at Gila, and there was command in his eyes. As if she dared not disobey she stepped forth again from the elevator, her eyes still upon him, her face gray with apprehension. Without further word from him she walked before him, slowly, into the little room at the right that he indicated.
"You're a fool!" said Aquilar, regarding her contemptuously, but she went as if she did not hear him. She entered the room, walked half-way across, and turned about, facing the two who had followed. Courtland was within the room, Aquilar lounging idly in the door, as if the matter were of little moment to him. He had a smile of contempt still on his handsome lips.
Courtland's manner was grave and sad. He had the commanding presence and beauty of an avenging angel.
"Gila, are you married to this man?" he asked, looking sternly at her, as though he would search her very soul.
Gila kept her dark, horrified gaze on his face. She was beyond trying to deceive now. She slowly gave one shake to her head, and her white lips formed the syllable, "No!" though it was almost inaudible.
"And yet you are registered here in this hotel as his wife?"
Her eyes suddenly flamed with shame. She drooped them before his gaze and seemed to try to assent, but her head was drooped too low to bow. She lifted miserable pleading looks to his face twice, but could not stand the clear rebuke of his gaze. It was like the whiteness of the reproach of God, and her little sinful soul could not bear it. She lifted a handkerchief and uttered something like a sob. It was as one might think would be the sound of a lost soul looking back at what might have been.
"What the devil have you got to say about it? Who the devil are you, anyway?" roared the man from the doorway.