"Let me go for a moment, George! I must get my handkerchief up-stairs. I'll be right back again."
"Don't be gone long," said George fondly, releasing her half-unconsciously at the accent of custom.
"No," said Dosia, very pale, and smiling back at him coquettishly as she went off with unhurried step—to dart up two pairs of stairs like a flying, hunted thing, and into her room, to lock the door fast and bolt it as if from the thoughts that pursued her.
Lois, coming up the stairs half an hour later, rattled the door-knob ineffectually before she knocked.
"Dosia, what's the matter? To whom are you talking? Let me in! Katy said, when she came up, you would not answer. She said Mr. Sutton had been walking up and down the piazza for a long time. Dosia, let me in; let me in this minute!"
The key clicked in the lock, the bolt slipped back, and the door flew open. Dosia, in her blue muslin frock, her hair in wild disorder, was standing in the center of the room, fiercely rubbing her already scarlet cheeks with a rough towel. Every trace of assumed listlessness had vanished; she was frantically alive, with blazing, defiant eyes, and talking half-disconnectedly.
"Never let him come here again—never, never!" she appealed to Lois.
"Whom do you mean?"
"George Sutton!"
A contraction passed over her face; she began rubbing again with renewed fury.