Maurice went over to Louise and took her hand.
"I've brought her," he said in a low tone, and with a kind of appeal in voice and eyes, which he was not himself aware of. Louise answered the look, and went on looking at him, as if she were fearful of letting her eyes stray. Both turned at an exclamation from Ephie. She was still standing where Maurice had left her, close beside the door; but her face was flaming, and her right hand fumbled with the doorhandle.
"Ephie!" said Maurice warningly. He was afraid she would turn the handle, and, going over to her, took her by the arm.
"Say, Maurice, I'm going home," she said under her breath. "I can't stop here. Oh, why did you bring me?"
"Ssh!—be a good girl, Ephie," he replied as though speaking to a child. "Come with me."
An inborn politeness struggled with Ephie's dread. "I can't. I don't know her name," she whispered. But she let him draw her forward to where Louise was standing; and she held out her hand.
"Miss—?" she said in a small voice, and waited for the name to be filled in.
Louise had watched them whispering, with a stony fare, but, at Ephie's gesture, life came into it. Her eyes opened wide; and drawing back from the girl's outstretched hand, yet without seeming to see it, she turned with a hasty movement, and went over to the window, where she stood with her back to them.
This was the last straw; Ephie dropped on a chair, and hiding her face in her hands, burst into the tears she had hitherto restrained. Her previous trouble was increased a hundredfold. For she had recognised Louise at once; she felt that she was in a trap; and the person who had entrapped her was Maurice. Holding a tiny lace handkerchief to her eyes, she sobbed as though her heart would break.
"Don't cry, dear, don't cry," said the young man. "It's all right." But his thoughts were with Louise. He was apprehensive of what she might do next.