"You—you said you were not returning till Saturday," she stammered.
"I found I could get away sooner than I expected, so I caught the last up-train—and here I am."
There was a rakish, devil-may-care note in his voice that filled her with a vague apprehension. Summoning up her courage, she faced him, striving to keep her voice steady.
"And why—why have you come to me—now?"
"I found your note—the note you had left on my desk, so I thought I would like to say good-bye," he answered carelessly.
"You could have waited till to-morrow morning," she returned coldly. "You—you"—she stammered a little, and a faint flush tinged her pallor—"you should not have come . . . here."
A sudden light gleamed in his eyes, mocking and triumphant.
"It is my wife's room. A husband"—slowly—"has certain rights."
"Ah-h!" She caught her breath, and her hand flew her throat.
"And since," he continued cruelly, never taking his eye from her face, "since those rights are to be rescinded to-morrow for ever—why, then, to-night—"