“Yes. Your friends are coming. I will go now; I will be waiting for you.”
He passed Dick, and Bob, and Mrs. Harlan, and as he was about to descend the steps to the road, his daughter’s voice stopped him.
“Father.” Alice stepped out of the house with a letter in her hand. “Look! Here is a letter from Aunt Helen; she is coming on the late train to-night.”
“That’s fine,” he answered heartily. “I am delighted! Good-bye, dear; I’m off for a little walk. I won’t be long.”
“Take care of yourself,” she called after him gayly, “and don’t be late.” She turned away, joining Mr. Miller and Molly, and they all walked along the veranda, followed by the little dog, until they stopped at the group that now were gathered about Lola. Mr. Miller noticed, as he took the chair one of the young men offered him, that Lola was not making more than a half-hearted effort to join in the general conversation, and he was watching the unmistakable signs of repressed emotion on her sensitive face, when she looked up and saw him. He expected to see a blaze of anger in her eyes, but for some reason she seemed anxious to avoid his scrutiny, and bent over, rather obviously to escape his glance, and patted the little dog, who was sitting sedately beside his mistress, only a foot or two away. At the first touch of her hand the tiny creature gave a snarl and, turning, buried his little teeth in her wrist. Molly cried out and sprang forward, but Lola threw her aside and, catching up a tennis racquet from the arm of one of the chairs, struck the dog with all her strength. Molly screamed as she saw the little figure fall back motionless, and all the others rose quickly and stepped forward with cries of indignation, but Lola did not hear them; again and again she struck, although her first blow had done its work; and as she struck she screamed, like the snarling scream of an angry wolf; for a moment no one moved, but at last Bob threw her aside as he would have thrown a man, and Molly dropped down, sobbing bitterly by the side of her little friend. No one spoke; Lola shuddered and, turning her head, looked about her from one to another. No eyes met hers; they all stood there, sick with horror. After a moment of silence, broken only by the sobbing of the child, she gave a short, contemptuous laugh and, dropping the blood-stained racquet, walked down the veranda to the door.
CHAPTER XVII
FENWAY'S DIVORCE GRANTED
“One moment, Miss Barnhelm!” Lola turned as she was about to enter the hotel, and found herself facing Alice Bradley, who had left the little group about Molly and had followed her.
“Well? What do you want?”
“You brute! You beast!” Alice cried out, tears of pity and anger running down her cheeks. “How could you! You—you are not a woman; you are an animal!”