He caught her to him, wrapping his arms around her; she continued to protest but, without resisting, her head dropped on his shoulder, her eyes closed, her lips breathlessly open.
All at once from the hall came the sound of a key in the latch. They disengaged themselves hurriedly, arranging their disordered hair, standing ridiculously apart.
From the antechamber came the voice of Miss Tilbury, the chaperon, discreetly remaining without:
"Nan, dear, Mr. Hargrave is below. He has come for his manuscript."
"But I'm not at home," she said in a muffled voice.
"You ought to send it down to him, really."
"Mr. Beecher is here—aren't you coming in?"
"In a moment."
The steps died out going to the back. Beecher, who had looked at the clock, uttered an exclamation. She came to him quickly, with the motions of the alert feline, and seizing his wrist said quickly:
"Listen, Teddy, I will not hold you to what has happened. We are out of our senses, you and I. We are crazy—crazy. You must not see me for a while—two days at least—until we know what we are doing. Go, now, please—"