"I told you I had an engagement," he began.
"Nonsense!" she burst out, still the prey of her anger. "You know very well you can keep her waiting half an hour if you wish, and you know very well that you can put off your engagement to-night—or is it with her, always with her?"
"I don't care to discuss my engagements," he said coldly, an emotion which he was far from feeling, for the sudden wild-eyed fury into which he had plunged her awoke in him something that thrilled him, as he had been thrilled the day he had returned Mrs. Bloodgood to her home, at the thought of what a consuming passion might be.
"Why do you tag around with her?" she continued heedlessly. "I should think you'd have more regard for your dignity—for what people think—Emma Fornez—ah!"
She stopped, pressing her handkerchief to her eyes and then, feeling he had perceived it, she exclaimed: "If I cry it's because I am disappointed—disillusionized—angry!"
She turned her back and went quickly to the window where the little Dresden clock lay shattered in a corner. She picked it up and looked at it, swallowing her anger. Then, as he continued to keep the silence, she came back, without looking at him, placed the clock on the mantelpiece again and said coldly:
"Well, it is time for you to go—not to keep her waiting."
"Good-afternoon," he said with a bow, and left the apartment.
When he reached the street, he was overcome with surprise.
"By Jove!" he said, swinging joyfully along. "Is it possible after all that she does care about me? How her eyes blazed—the little fury. That at least wasn't acting!"