“I confess,” he said in a low tone. “I confess it was so. I spied on you.”
“And followed me!”
“Yes,” he admitted it, his hands extended in unseen deprecation, “I did.”
“Why?” she cried. “Why, sir?”
“Because——”
“But I do not want to know,” she retorted, cutting him short as she remembered the time, and place, “I want to know nothing, to hear nothing from you! The chair, sir! The chair, if you do not wish to add further outrage to your unmanly conduct. Set me the chair and go!”
“But hear at least,” he pleaded, “why I followed you, Miss Damer. Why——”
She stamped her foot on the ground.
“The chair!” she repeated.
He was most anxious to tell her that though other motives had led him to spy on her and watch her window, he had followed her out of a pure desire to protect her. But her insistence overrode him, silenced him. He set the chair under the passage window and murmured submissively that it was there.