It was Frank Garrick, the manager of the telegraph office.
The sentence had scarcely left his lips ere he recognized her.
"Aha!" he cried, a fierce imprecation accompanying the words. "So it's you, Ida May?" he added, catching her fiercely by the cloak. "So I have found you at last!"
She was too frightened to reply.
"So this is where you are stopping, is it? Come, walk as far as the end of the street with me. I want to talk to you."
"No!" cried Ida May, struggling to free herself from his grasp. "I have nothing to say to you, nor will I listen to you!"
"We shall see about that presently," he cried. "Frank Garrick is not a man to be balked in this way by a little girl. You shall listen to me!"
Ida May reached out her hand quickly to touch the bell, but he anticipated the movement, and caught her arm roughly.
She tried to cry out, but no sound issued from her lips.
She had already gone through more than her overstrained nerves could bear. Without a cry or a moan, she sunk in a dead faint at his feet.