Suddenly she exclaimed blindly, "Oh, my God!" Then she threw her arms about him, as he drew her to his bosom.
It was at that moment, as if Fate herself had timed the interruption, that Fran entered.
There was a violent movement of mutual repulsion on the part of Hamilton Gregory and his secretary. Fran stood very still, the sharpness of her profile defined, with the keenness of eyes and a slight grayness about the lips that made her look oddly small and old.
Fran was a dash of water upon raging fire. The effect was not extinguishment, but choking vapors. Bewildered, lost to old self- consciousness, it was necessary for Grace to readjust herself not only to these two, but to herself as well.
Fran turned upon her father, and pointed toward his desk. "Stand there!" she said, scarcely above a whisper.
Gregory burst forth in blind wrath: "How dare you enter the room in this manner? You shall leave this house at once, and for ever….I should have driven you out long ago. Do you hear me? Go!"
Fran's arm was still extended. "Stand there!" she repeated.
Quivering in helpless fury, he stumbled to his desk, and leaned upon it. His face burned; that of Grace Noir was ghastly white.
"Now, you" said Fran, her voice vibrating as she faced the secretary, "go to your typewriter!"
Grace did not move.