“Grace,” he said gently, “as I was coming down to dinner tonight, I happened to see you and Tremaine standing here together, and, without intending to, I overheard a sentence which stopped me up there at the turn of the stair.”
She looked at him, her eyes dark with apprehension.
“You mean that you listened?” she asked.
“After that first sentence, it seemed to me that I had a right to listen.”
Her lips were curling in scorn, her eyes were burning through him.
“Oh, a right!”
“Yes, a right,” he repeated boldly. “No man should be permitted to talk to you as he talked. Why, he insulted you, he threatened you-Heaven knows what outrage he was ready to commit. Why did you permit it?”
She turned away from him and her arms dropped wearily by her sides.
“Your proper course is to inform Delroy,” he continued doggedly, braving the certainty of offending her. “Or, better still, I will, and then kick that scoundrel out. I’ve already had one quarrel with Dickie about him.”
“Have you?” she asked listlessly.
“Yes, I distrust him. Why did you permit him to talk to you the way he did?”
“I can’t tell you,” she answered hoarsely.
“But I have a right to know.”
“Yes, I suppose you have. Why not break it off? Then you won’t need to worry about me any more.”
