"Do not be melodramatic," implored Morris, giving each word its full value to render it more impressive, while he shook his head, and screwed up his face in superior disdain. "Of course——"
"I don't want—I refuse, absolutely refuse to hear anything more you've got to say; so you may as well hold your tongue," interrupted Evarne fiercely. "Get out of the way; stand aside from the door; let me get out of this room."
But Morris did not move.
"Not so, you're far too excited. There's no knowing what you might do."
He made a great mistake in preventing her from finding the solitude she instinctively sought. His words and presence were unendurably exasperating at this juncture.
She sat down on a couch, and tapped the floor impatiently with the toe of her velvet slipper.
Morris tried again.
"If you could only persuade yourself to look at the matter clearly—" But he broke off abruptly. Evarne had merely raised her head and looked at him, but that was all-sufficient. "It's evidently no use talking sense to anyone so beside herself as you are now," he concluded lamely.
"No use, so let me pass."
She sprang to her feet, and came close to him. Her face was flushed, while her eyes seemed to fairly blaze with passion; every breath she drew was distinctly audible. It really spoke something for Morris's strength of mind that he stood his ground.