The tea-bell rang, but she did not heed it. She was too excited to be conscious of hunger.
She lighted her lamp, bathed her hot face, brushed out her tangled curls, then raised the window and looked down into the street at the motley crowds beneath the glaring lights.
She was startled from a long reverie by the soft opening and closing of her door.
Turning about with a cry of alarm, Floy saw Otho Maury standing with his back against the door, an insolent smile of triumph on his lips.
“Floy, let me speak to you one moment,” he pleaded humbly.
“No, I will not listen. How dare you come up here? Leave the room this instant, you villain!” she cried out in stormy anger.
“By Heaven, I will not go, you pretty little vixen, till you hear me. Oh, Floy, I love you; I offer you my heart and protection! Will you accept them? No! Then I swear I’ll have the kiss you denied me that other night!”
Maddened with passion for the scornful young beauty, he advanced toward her, and in her terrible fright at the thought of his loathed caress, she leaned her slight body far over the sill, and sent her voice ringing down to the street in agonized shrieks:
“Help! help! help!”
“Oh, horror! horror!”