“Doctor Herbert Bayliss is—”
She sprang to her feet. She was not smiling now.
“Stop!” she interrupted, sharply. “Stop! I did not come to discuss Doctor Bayliss. I have asked you a question. I ask you if you would presume to interfere in my personal affairs. Would you?”
“Why, no. That is, I—”
“You say that to me! YOU!”
“Frances, if you mean that I have interfered between you and the Doctor, I—”
She stamped her foot.
“Stop! Oh, stop!” she cried. “You know what I mean. What did you say to Mr. Heathcroft? Do you dare tell me you have not interfered there?”
It had come, the expected. Her smile and the asking for “advice” had been apparently but traps to catch me off my guard. I had been prepared for some such scene as this, but, in spite of my preparations, I hesitated and faltered. I must have looked like the meanest of pickpockets caught in the act.
“Frances,” I stammered, “Frances—”