Lorelei spoke sharply, but with a restraint that surprised her. "What are you doing here?"
"What am I—? Why, nothing especial. Had to tell you good night, you know." He laughed guardedly, nervously. She saw that he was considerably drunker than when she had escaped from his attentions, but evidently he knew quite well what he was about.
"Kindly get out, and close the door after you," she directed, still without raising her voice.
"The door's closed—and locked," he snickered. Lorelei sat up with eyes blazing. "Oh, don't worry about Bob," muttered Hayman, reassuringly. "Bob's good for two hours yet—I've seen to that—and he couldn't find his way up-stairs, anyhow. Say! I want to talk to you. You've got me going, Lorelei."
"You've been drinking, Mr. Hayman. I'm willing to think that you made a mistake in the room if you go at once."
The intruder took no warning from her crisp tones nor from the fact that her twilight eyes were as dark as a midnight sky. On the contrary, he suddenly bent low over her, his odorous breath beating into her face, his arms reaching for her.
With the lithe alertness of a leopard she evaded him; the next instant the bed was between them and she had whipped a negligee about her. For an instant they faced each other; then she pointed a quivering arm, gasping in a voice that sounded strange and throaty to her ears:
"Get out! Get out! You—beast!"
Hayman was unused to opposition. He had engineered this moment carefully; a galling anger rose to meet hers as he felt his labors wasted.
"Don't get flighty," he growled. "You knew I'd come, didn't you? Why'd you leave your door unlocked if you didn't expect me?"