"Oh?" Sense of humour reasserted itself in a little laugh. "Why half?"
"Entirely, then," Mallison sullenly conceded. He got on his feet again, but his attitude remained conciliatory, even though he would persist in seeking to defend himself at her expense. "If it's insanity to love you, then I'm mad enough—but, God's my witness! I'm not altogether to blame. And you know that's true."
"And I'm to understand you stole back here tonight to tell me that?"
"No—but to beg your forgiveness for having acted as I did a while ago. I couldn't leave things as they were between us overnight, I couldn't think of anything but how unfair you were when I lost control of myself for just one little minute and made you see how madly I love you. I had to come back and have it out, explain—arrive at some sort of understanding."
"And you want me to believe you considered these your best overtures?" Folly uttered a cluck of contempt. "Before you go," she pursued, instinctively dragging across her bosom the inadequate protection of the négligé—"you might be good enough to explain how you did manage to sneak up here."
But Mallison merely uttered a sibilant "Hush!" and lifted a hand of warning.
Below, the grumble of the doorbell sounded with an accent imperative.
"What do you suppose that means?" the dancing man demanded in a whisper of apprehension.
"Somebody at the front door . . . How should I know?" The noise was repeated. A glint of distrust kindled in the woman's eyes. "What's the matter, Mally? Expecting somebody?"
"Nonsense. What a question! Who should I be expecting?"