"See here, Linda! there are limits to my patience."
"And to mine—and you have found them. Let me go."
She didn't move, but her face had lost colour, her eyes had grown dangerous. Neither spoke in that clash of wills until Bellamy's weakened, his eyes shifted, and he stepped aside, slightly sobered.
"Please!" he begged in a turn of penitence. "Didn't mean.... Frightfully sorry if I've been an ass; but—you know—pretty well shot to pieces last night—had to pull myself together somehow to talk business at luncheon——"
"Oh! it was a business luncheon, then?" asked Lucinda sweetly, pausing.
"Of course."
With an ominous smile she commented: "It has come to that already, has it?"
"Ah—what d'you mean?"
"Since you tell me it was a business luncheon, you leave me to infer that your affair with Amelie has reached the point where you take her to the Clique Club to talk terms." Bellamy's jaw sagged, his eyes were dashed with consternation. "What else do you wish me to think, Bellamy?"
He made a pitiable effort to pull himself together. "Look here, Linda: you're all wrong about this—misinformed. I can explain——"