“Get her letters back, of course.”
“Isabelle, you and Miss Watts go somewhere else and wait,” Wally urged, as his wife gave the butler instructions.
“No. I shall stay here.”
“You’ll do no such thing. You’ve done your part, now you leave the rest of it to us,” ordered her mother.
“It is my hand he is asking for; those are my letters, and this is my affair. I shall stay right here and see it through,” Isabelle asserted with firm determination.
Max saw that, except by force, there was no way to eject her, and it was too late for that, as Matthews was approaching with the Frenchman.
The hero entered with a ceremonious bow. He was good-looking in a dare-devil way, with a somewhat dissipated face. His eyes went from one to another until they came to Isabelle.
“Ah! mon adoree, c’est toi!” he cried, and before any one could stop him, he seized her hands and covered them with kisses.
“None of that!” shouted Wally, jerking Isabelle away.