As Mrs. Hamilton went out, there came brushing by her, bursting into the
room, a stout, middle-aged man. It was Mr. Borrowby, in a terrible fury.
He resembled a heavy, solid little dog. One could imagine the impact of
his body against the furniture, how he might hurl himself about and
always rebound unhurt. His talk was like barking, growling, and
snapping, and his bloodshot eyes were fixed unwaveringly upon his enemy.
He was terrific.
“Where’s my girl?” he bellowed.
“Don’t shout like that!” said Andrew. “I can’t stand it. I’m worn out.”
“I’ll wear you out! Where’s my girl?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t lie to me, you dirty, low-lived, degenerate hound! You vile,
treacherous Bolshevist!”
“You’re going too far!” cried Andrew. “You’ll behave yourself, or I’ll
put you out!”
“No, you won’t! I’ll have my daughter, or I’ll call in the police. Don’t
you dare!” he shouted, shaking his fist in Andrew’s face. “Don’t you
dare deny it! That young woman who opened the door for me told me Mavis
was in here.”
It occurred to the desperate Andrew that the only possible course was
that of complete candor.
“What if she is?” he replied “I’m not--”
“I know what _you_ are! Didn’t the girl herself tell me that since she’d
known you, she could never marry? Good God! I could kill you, you
scoundrel! Where is she?”
“In there,” said Andrew. “I sha’n’t deny it. There’s nothing to be
ashamed of--absolutely nothing wrong.”
He was really afraid, for an instant, that the angry little dog was
about to launch itself upon him. Instead, to his relief, Borrowby began
to pound upon the closet door.
“Open the door!” he roared.
“No, I sha’n’t!” came Mavis’s calm response.
“I’ll break in the door!”
“All right! Begin! There’s a window in here, and I’ll jump out of it and
run away; and every one will see me from the street!”
In the midst of this pounding and shouting the telephone rang.
“_Keep quiet!_” Andrew roared. “Stop your infernal noise! It may be
something important!”
Mr. Borrowby desisted for an instant. Andrew took up the receiver, to
hear the voice of Mrs. Hamilton.
“I want to say good-by to you,” she said in a calm and bitter voice.
“It’s the last word you will ever hear from me. This is really good-by,
to you and to all the world. I have something here that will end it all,
all my sufferings--”
“No!” he cried. “No! What are you thinking of?”
“Don’t worry!” she said. “It is the best way, my dear!”
The doctor gave vent to such a strange and terrible howl that even Mr.
Borrowby was startled.
“What is it?” asked a quiet voice beside him.
He was not surprised to see Marian there. He was past surprise.
“Mrs. Hamilton!” he explained “Going to take poison!”
“Speak to her,” whispered Marian. “Tell her you’re coming at once.”
He did so, and hung up the receiver.
“Now, go up-stairs and lie down, dear,” said Marian. “You’re worn out.
I’ll send your lunch up to you. Don’t worry about anything. I’ll
manage.”
“There’s Mavis Borrowby shut up in the closet,” he told her wearily;
“and Mrs. Hamilton--and something worrying about Miss Franklin--I’ve
forgotten just what.”
“Poor boy!” she murmured. “I’m so sorry! Go on, dear, and lie down. Try
not to worry.”
He went up-stairs to his room and lay down on the bed, quite exhausted,
trying to think, but unable to do so. A long time passed. He watched the
trees moving in the April wind, and the clouds slipping across the gay
blue sky.