“Miss Babraham cannot see you now,” said the slow-voiced butler, with an air of terrible finality.
“But I must see her. I simply must,” wildly persisted June.
“It’s impossible to see her now,” said the butler.
The words caused June to stagger back against the wall. In answer to her tragic eyes, the butler said reluctantly: “You had better call again some time to-morrow, and I’ll send in your name.”
“I—I must see her now,” June gasped wildly.
The butler was adamant. “You can’t possibly see her to-night.”
“Why can’t I?” said June, desperately.
“She is going to a ball.”
The words were like a blow. A vista of the fog outside and of herself wandering with her precious burden all night long in it homeless, penniless, desolate, came upon her with unnerving force. “But—please!—I must see her to-night,” she said, with a shudder of misery.
Faced by the butler’s pitiless air, June felt her slender hope to be ebbing away. She would be turned adrift in the night. And what would happen to her then? She could not walk the streets till daybreak with the Van Roon under her arm. Already she had reached the limit of endurance. The dark haze before her eyes bore witness to the fact that her strength was almost gone. No matter what the attitude of the butler towards her she must not think of quitting this place of refuge unless she was flung out bodily, for her trials here were nought by comparison with those awaiting her outside.