Mr. and Mrs. Satterthwaite sprang up from their seats, turned to see a youngish man, clad in an ill-fitting lounge suit, standing in the doorway. The young woman clutched at the back of her chair, her eyes wide in terror.
“Harry!” She breathed the cry almost voicelessly in her stupefaction. “_Harry’s ghost!_”
Satterthwaite snatched back the child, who had recoiled from the flaming anger in the stranger’s face.
“What does this mean?” asked the intruder, fiercely, ignoring the little one. “Evelyn!” The summons was uttered with outraged but confident authority.
“No!” She spoke as to herself. “No!--It can’t be! He’s dead--he’s dead!”
Satterthwaite intervened, his jaw setting hard, the level tone of his voice evidently sternly controlled.
“May I ask who you are?” he enquired, coldly.
The stranger faced him. Anger met anger in their eyes.
“Certainly. I am Harry Tremaine. And perhaps you will be good enough to tell me who the devil you are--and what you are doing with my wife in my flat?” The man’s voice trembled with fury. His face worked with passion. He took a step toward the young woman.
She drew quickly away from him, sheltered herself behind her companion, whence she stared at him with fascinated eyes.
“My name is Satterthwaite--and I am dining with my wife!”
“Your--wife----!” He repeated the words slowly as though scarcely crediting such audacious impudence of assertion. Then he laughed in harsh mockery. “Don’t talk nonsense!” He looked down at the child at Satterthwaite’s side. “Dorothy!--come here!”
Satterthwaite restrained the child’s movement of obedience with a firm grip. “Excuse me,” he said quietly, “I think the youngster is better absent from this discussion.” He led the bewildered little girl to the door, opened it, and called for the nurse. “Put Miss Dorothy to bed!” he ordered. “And then all of you go out for the evening. Go to the movies. Here!” He held out a note. “Have a good time--and get out at once! Mrs. Satterthwaite and I want to be alone in the flat this evening.”
He closed the door and returned to the others. The stranger, dominated for the moment by his quiet, masterful manner, had made no movement to interfere, stood, as he had left him, by the doorway. But his eyes were fixed still wrathfully upon the young woman who stared back at him, fascinated, clutching at the table for support. Her lips were ashen, parted in a soundless terror.