Miss Vaughan sank into a chair and clasped her hands.

“Arthur,” she said, “I must have my freedom. I can’t be closed in emotionally. Felix gives me something.”

“The hell he does,” said Surbonadier. He too sat down, and such was the habit of the stage, he sat down rather stagily. His hands shook with genuine emotion, though, and Stephanie Vaughan eyed him and knew it.

“Arthur,” she said, “you must forgive me, darling. I’m very attached to you and I hate hurting you, but— if you can — leave off wanting me. Don’t ask me to marry you — I might say ‘Yes’ and make you even more unhappy than you are now.”

Even while she spoke she knew she had made a false step. He had moved quickly to her side and taken her in his arms.

“I’d risk the unhappiness,” he muttered. “I want you so much.” He pressed his face into her neck. She shivered a little. Unseen by him her face expressed a kind of exultant disgust. Her hands were on his hair. Suddenly she thrust him away.

“No, no, no,” she said. “Don’t! Leave me alone. Can’t you see I’m sick of it all? Leave me alone.”

In all the “bad men” parts he had played Surbonadier had never looked quite so evil as he did at that moment.

“I’m damned if I’ll leave you alone,” he said. “I’m not going to be kicked out. I don’t care if you hate me. I want you, and by God I’ll have you.”

He took her by the wrists. She did not attempt to resist him. They stared, full of antagonism, into each other’s faces.

Distantly an electric bell sounded and at once her moment of surrender, if it had been a moment of surrender, was past.

“That’s the front door,” she said. “Let me go, Arthur.” She had to struggle before she could break away from him, and he was still beside her, in a state of rather blatant agitation, when Felix Gardener walked into the room.