whine. "Unless you'll make a new start with me. Unless you—"
"Sim Burns, you—"
"Forget it!" His hand whipped out to grasp her wrist as anger leaped into her eyes. She struggled against his clutch.
"Let go!"
"Let go, hell! Choose now! It's one or the other: me an' your forest—or neither!"
He had not heard the step on the stair. He was so centered on his strategy that he did not detect her relief and neglect to struggle.
"I think this will do."
It was John Taylor's voice close behind Burns and the man looked over his shoulder sharply, hand still clutching Helen's wrist. For a second his amassed eyes clung to Taylor's confident smile and he made no move.
"Miss Foraker has asked you to let go her arm—You will do it now."
There was a snap to the last and John dropped a firm hand on Burns' shoulder.
Sim whirled to face him.
"What's this to you," he panted, rage returning to cover his start.
"Not much, except that you are going to go away now—unless Miss Foraker wants to say more to you."
He turned to the girl, who moved away from the door slowly, as though not just certain of the strength of her limbs. She did not look at the men, but shook her head in a disgusted reply to Taylor's words.
Burns straightened and put on his hat, buttoning his overcoat haughtily.
