“I believe it’s the Calhoun-Coopers,” Barnard peered cautiously out of the window. “It looks like their car. The theft of their pearls has murdered sleep.” He stepped back and scanned Janet mockingly. “Will you face the music?”
She put out her hand as if to ward off a blow, and rising hurriedly, darted out into the hall and stopped the footman on his way to the front door.
“Not at home, Henderson,” she directed. “And Mrs. Fordyce is not feeling well enough to see anyone.”
“Very good, Miss Janet.”
Janet turned with lagging footsteps back to the drawing-room, one hand pressed to her side to still the pounding of her heart. Barnard, a look of deep concern on his handsome face, met her at the threshold.
“My precious darling!” he murmured, but with trembling hands she pushed him violently from her as he attempted to kiss her.
“No, no!” she implored, and staggered over to the grand piano.
“How long must I serve!” demanded Barnard, his voice shaking with emotion as he followed her. “Janet, will you never listen to the dictates of your heart?”
“If I did——!” Janet’s agonized gaze left his face and traveled downward to the keyboard of the piano. Suppose she told him too much? She must keep a guard upon her tongue—
“Play for me, Chichester,” she pleaded.