“No; can’t do it, Myrtle—sorry.”
“You mean, you won’t?”
He nodded.
“Put it that way.”
Her hand closed tensely over his arm.
“King, for heaven’s sake let me see you; let me talk to you! You’ve avoided me all the week. I’m desperate!”
“Look out!” he said hastily, drawing his arm away.
“I don’t care,” she said defiantly. “Listen: Go down the hall, down to the third floor—there’s no one there—and I’ll come after you.”
“No, I won’t,” he said angrily.
“You won’t? King, you must, you must—if you don’t—I—I shall scream—go mad. I can’t keep up!”