Lady Barbara gave a piercing shriek, sprang from her seat, and staggered back, grasping a chair to keep her from falling.  “How dare you, Guy Dalton, to—­”

The intruder loosened the top button of his cape, watching, meanwhile, the terrified woman, and, with a sneer, said:  “Oh, stop that, will you?  I’ve had enough of it.  You thought you could get away, did you?  Well, you can’t, and the sooner you find that out the better for you.”  He glanced coolly around the room.  “So this is where you are, is it?—­a rotten hole, anyhow.  You might better have stayed where you were.  Does Rosenthal pay you enough to keep this up, or is somebody else footing the bills?  Now, you get your things on and be quick about it.”

She had been edging toward her bedroom door all this time, her eyes glaring into his with the fierceness of a cornered animal, muttering as she stepped—­one word at a time:  “You—­have—­no—­right—­to—­come —­in—­here.”

“I haven’t, haven’t I?  I’d like to know who has a better right?” he returned angrily.

“No, you have not.”  She was moving an inch at a time, keeping a chair between herself and Dalton, her eyes watching his every expression, her right hand stretched along the wall.

“Still at it, are you?  Well, get through, and hurry up.  I’ll go where I please, and you’ll come when I want you.  Everybody is inquiring for you down at the house, and I promised them you would be back to-night, and you will.  You were a fool to leave.  It’s a lot better than this.  From what I heard last night, from one of Rosenthal’s girls, I thought you had moved into something palatial.”

She had reached the bedroom door now, and her hand was on the knob.

“Yes—­that’s right,” he said, mistaking her purpose, “get into your wraps, and—­”

The door closed with a sudden bang, and the inside bolt was pushed tight.

Dalton stood with his hands in his pockets.  “Oh, that’s the game, is it?” he called, in a loud voice.  He saw he had been outwitted, and an oath escaped him.  He saw, too, that the door was a heavy one, and the effort to force it might bring in the neighbors.  “Well, there’s no hurry.  I can wait,” he added savagely, “but if you know what’s good for you, you’ll come out now.”

She had sunk down on her bed, hardly daring to breathe.  Her only hope now lay in Martha, and she might not come back for an hour.

Dalton sauntered away from the door and began an inspection of the room.  The box on the chair came first.  He lifted the lid and drew out the mantilla.  “Rather good, this—­wonder how she got hold of it—­ Oh, yes, I see, she must be repairing it.  There are her work-basket and the spools of black silk.”

He turned to the box again and read the name of “Rosenthal” stencilled on the bottom.  “So that is what she is doing—­they did not tell me what she worked at.”  He spread out the mantilla again and looked it over carefully.  Then a smile of cunning crossed his face.  “Just what I want,” he said, folding it up and tucking it inside his capacious cape.