Page:The Whisper on the Stair by Lyon Mearson (1924).djvu/250

 To-morrow I’ll be here early. And in the meantime⸺” he turned to her again and his voice grew hard, flinty, “In the meantime, don’t try any nonsense. I’ve had just about all of that that I can stand from you—and from that Morley nuisance. I haven’t been hard with you, because I always thought that eventually you would come to your senses about this matter—but my patience has its limits, Jessica, and I want to warn you that I intend to carry my program through regardless of what it costs. If persuasion won’t work, why, there are other ways.” His voice now purred softly, confidentially, like a cat’s, with the same suggestion of sheathed claws and sharp, wicked teeth.

She succeeded, finally, in wrenching away her gaze. “Good night,” she said quietly, evenly, not trusting herself to look full upon his face. He made as though to take her in his arms, but she evaded him with a heedless, natural movement that carried her beyond him; her cheeks now flamed with color, and had he looked closely he would have been able to see the fighting will that, dormant until now, was awakening in her depths.

“Good night,” she said again.

“Good night,” he replied, and turned toward the door.

At the door he paused once more. “And remember what I just told you—you know I don’t joke about such things.”

She regarded him in silence as he let himself out, but a surprising change came over her as the door closed upon him. Her form straightened out, new life came into her glorious eyes, and her breath came and went more rapidly. She was a different woman; she was purposeful and awake, vibrant with energy and life; a woman fighting for her own.