“Oh, it's Mr. Guy Dalton, is it?” Martha cried, facing him. “The man who's been a curse to you ever since you met him. I know every crook and turn of you--you ought to be ashamed of yourself to treat a woman as you have treated Lady Barbara O'Day. Now, sir, this is my room and you can't stay in it a minute longer. There's the door!” Dalton laughed a dry, crackling laugh. “You are a regular virago, are you not, my dear woman?” he said. “Quite refreshing to hear your defense of a woman on whom I have spent every shilling I had. Now, do not get excited--cool down a bit, and we will talk it over--and while we are at it, please make me a cup of tea. It is about my hour. When my wife comes to her senses, as she will in a minute, she will get over her tantrums and think better of it.” Martha strode straight toward him until her capacious body was within a few inches of his shirt-front, her hands tightly clinched. “Don't make any mistake, Mr. Dalton. Your airs won't go here. My brother Stephen looks after me and after Lady O'Day, and he and another man you wouldn't care to meet are looking after you.” She called to her mistress: “Lock and bolt that door on you, and don't open it until I tell you.” Again she confronted Dalton, her contempt for him increasing as she caught the wave of anxiety that swept his face at her reference to the men who would help her. “Now, you can have just one minute to leave this room, Mr. Dalton,” she cried, throwing back the door. “If you're over that time, the policeman on the block will help you down-stairs.” Dalton hesitated. The allusion to Stephen, whoever he might be, and to the other man, disturbed him. That the woman knew more of his history than she was willing at that time to tell was evident. That she was entirely in earnest, and meant what she said, and that it would be more than dangerous for him to defy her, should she appeal to the police for help, were equally evident. “Of course, my dear woman,” he said, with assumed humility, his eyes glistening with anger, “if you do not want me to stay, I suppose I shall have to go. I did not come to make any fuss; I only came to take my wife home where I can take care of her. She seems to think she can get along without me. All right--I am willing she should try it for a while. She has my address, which is more than I had when she left me without a word of any kind.” He slid his hand under his cape to assure himself that the mantilla was safe and out of sight, picked up his hat, and stepped jauntily out, saying as he went down the staircase: “Next time, she will come to me. Do you hear? Tell her so, will you?” Chapter XVIII