“Miss Ogden can take care of herself,” announced a clear voice behind them and the two men swung about and confronted Ethel.
“I must ask you to leave, Ethel,” broke in Patterson hastily, before Barclay could speak.
“I will not,” and she stepped nearer. “I have only just come in. What were you quarreling about, Mr. Barclay.”
“A matter of no moment,” he answered. “A—a political discussion.”
Ethel looked at him closely. “Thank you,” she murmured, and her warm, bright smile almost broke down his composure.
Ethel’s manner to Barclay had not been lost on Patterson, and it fanned his jealousy to a white heat.
“Let’s have done with lies,” he began roughly. “This man is not a fit associate for you, Ethel.”
“Wait!” Ethel laid a restraining hand on Barclay’s arm as he stepped toward Patterson, and he thrilled at her touch. Ethel faced Patterson. “I will have you understand, James Patterson, that I choose my own friends, and I consider Mr. Barclay worthy of my friendship.”
Impulsively Barclay raised the little hand on his arm and kissed it passionately.
“God bless you!” he murmured, and she crimsoned as the whisper reached her.