Ting!
It seemed as if some of the electric current which made that distant muffled ring had switched and passed through the happy pair. Both started guiltily, and then both listened with the greatest intentness; so intensely, that after a moment’s pause they could hear the soft gliding sound of the footman’s list slippers as they travelled down the hallway; could hear the click of the lock as he opened the front door; could hear the murmur of voices; could hear the door closed. Then, after a moment’s silence, a voice, for the first time articulate to them, said: “I’ll wait in the morning room.”
“Freddy,” gasped the girl, “it’s that horrid Mr. Potter. Quick!”
Both had arisen from the sofa, and Freddy looked about in a very badly perplexed condition. He was quite willing, but about what was he to be quick?
“Sit down in that chair,” whispered the girl, pointing to one at a more than proper distance, and Freddy sprinted for it, and sat down. The girl resumed her seat on the little sofa, and putting her hands in a demure position, rather contradictory to her quick breathing and flushed cheeks, began: “As you were saying, the De Reszke brothers were the only redeeming— Oh! Good evening, Mr. Potter.”
“Good evening, Frances,” responded a tall, rather slender, strong-featured man, attired in evening dress, who had leisurely strolled into the room, and who did not offer to go through the form of shaking hands. “Talking to the fire?”
“No. Freddy and I were chatting about the opera.”
Mr. Potter put on his glasses and languidly surveyed the region of the fireplace. Then he turned and extended his investigation, till his eyes settled on Freddy, stuck away in the dim distance.
“Oh, are you there, youngster?” he remarked, in a tone of voice implying that the question carried no interest with it. He looked at his watch. “Isn’t it rather late for you two?”
“It’s only quarter past ten,” answered Frances, bristling indignantly. “And if it were twelve it wouldn’t make any difference.” To herself she said, “How I hate that man! Just because he’s thirty-four, he always treats us as if we were children; and the way he tramples on poor, dear Freddy is outrageous!”