“Zee, one moment—”
“No, sir! I shall hear no more from you. I never want to see you again,—either of you!” She had spoken brokenly, and the last three words came slowly, with a kind of hiss. “But before I go, I wish to say something to you, to ease your feelings of pity for me. It was by my request—and by my order—that father sold that property; and he gave me the money—do you understand?—gave me the money for it—and I have spent it—all of it!”
She was gone so quickly that the front door slammed on her last word, as though to add to the contempt that it carried.
Merriam ran into the hall, calling her name, but when he opened the door the iron gate was swinging violently, and she was walking rapidly away. Leighton seized his coat and hat in the hall and sped after her.
“Bring her back!” the old man roared after him.
“Miss Dameron, I’m sorry: I am sure—”
“Will you kindly stop following me?” she said, wheeling upon Morris, and then she turned and continued her flight; but Morris followed. Zelda continued straight ahead and did not look back or speak to him again, though she knew that he was behind her.
She continued up High Street to a cross-town thoroughfare that led to the old Merriam house. There was something wholly uncompromising in her walk; and her spirit, Morris declared to himself, was equally unyielding. Her assumption of responsibility for her father’s acts had amazed him, and in the cool air of the autumn evening he debated with himself as to how much, if anything, she really knew of Ezra Dameron’s affairs. It was a fine thing for her to have swept aside her uncle’s charges, and her words repeated themselves over and over again in his mind with thrilling effect. If it was merely a blind defense, to give her time for thought or inquiry, she had managed it with amazing dash.
When she reached the old house, Zelda ran up the steps, and pulled the bell. She did not turn her head, but Leighton stood, feeling the least bit foolish, until the door opened and Zelda disappeared within.