"I—I think I may go away for a change and rest," she stammered.
"All the more reason for my making my call soon, then," said Doctor Herschall coolly. "I have something of importance to say to you."
"Oh, I feel you would better not come, Doctor Herschall!" she cried desperately. "Really, I do not feel fit for—for company. I am quite done up."
"I hope I shall not miss you when I call, Miss Belinda," he repeated, his keen eyes searching her averted face. She was looking at his empty right hand, its long, pliant fingers working spasmodically, as they did when he was in earnest. She realized that they were wonderfully able, dexterous fingers; yet when she saw them work in that nervous manner she always thought of them as clutching in a horrid way for an enemy's throat.
"If I should miss you," purred the Herr Doktor, "I shall come again and yet again. My time is not altogether my own, as you know; but no sacrifice would I count too great, Miss Belinda, for the pleasure of your society."
He left her at the door and strode away. Belinda's cheeks burned furiously and she bit her lip to keep back the sobs. She was both enraged and afraid.
He took so much for granted! There was no use in trying to show the Herr Doktor his place.
"I hate him!" she gasped.
His assurance and masterfulness almost cowed the girl's spirit. Belinda Melnotte was not one who ordinarily shrank before any human being; the influence of the black-browed surgeon upon her mind was almost uncanny.
"I hate him!" she repeated. "I wish I might never see him again!"