Stooping, he unlocked the drawer and drew forth the imprisoned millinery. Then flinging it carelessly over his arm, he started toward the door, apparently intending to return to the crowded rooms which he had just quitted.
From behind the curtains Bessie regarded his actions with an exasperation and helplessness which were about equally possessed of her mind. What should she do? If she betrayed her presence she would be more than ever at his mercy, yet it was clearly impossible to allow him to carry off her skirt, as he seemed to purpose doing. Abandoning all pride, she gave a squeak of alarm as Moore reached the door.
"Did I hear some one address me?" he demanded, turning on the threshold.
"Sir," said Bessie, desperately from the window, her brown head visible between the curtains.
"Oh, you are there, are you?" said Moore, apparently greatly astonished.
"Bring me that--That," she said, blushing a little as she spoke.
"That what?" he asked.
She pointed angrily at the skirt adorning his arm.
"That," she repeated more loudly.
"This?" said he, obtusely, holding up his prize.