had aroused his anger.

She said nothing, therefore, and he led her to the retreat her
sister-in-law had mentioned in unbroken silence. It was certainly not a
very artistic corner. A few straggling plants in pots decorated it, but
they looked neglected and shabby. Yet the thought went through her, it
might have been a bower of delight had they been in the closer accord of
lovers who desire naught but each other.

The place was deserted, lighted only by a high window that looked into a
billiard-room. The window was closed, but the rattle of the balls and
careless voices of the players came through the silence. A dusty bench
was let into the wall below it.

"Do you like this place?" asked Fletcher Hill.

She glanced around her with a little nervous laugh. "It's as good as any
other, isn't it?"

His hand still held her arm. He bent slightly, looking into her face.
"I've been wanting to talk to you," he said.

"Have you?" She tried to meet his look, but failed. "What about?" she
said, almost in a whisper.

He bent lower. "Dot, are you afraid of me?" he said.

That brought her eyes to his face with a jerk. "I--I--no--of course not!"
she stammered, in confusion.