Just then there came the sounds of footsteps in the corridor, then a knock at the door. Denby waited calmly for some word from the girl. The knock was repeated.
“Well,” he whispered at last, “why don’t you answer?”
She shrank back. “No, no, I can’t.”
Denby moved to the door. “Who is it?” he asked.
Lambart’s respectful voice made answer: “You rang, sir?”
“Yes,” he returned, “I forgot to tell you that Miss Cartwright wished to be called at seven. Call me at the same time, too. That’s all, Lambart; sorry to have had to disturb you. Good-night.”
He stood listening until the man’s footsteps died away. Then he turned, and came toward the girl.
“So you didn’t dare denounce me after all,” he said mockingly.
“Oh, I knew it was all a joke,” she said, with an attempt to pass it over lightly. “I knew you couldn’t be so contemptible.”
“A joke!” he exclaimed grimly. “Why does it seem a joke?”