"Please, Mary!" Faith cried, her cheeks scarlet.
"Well, well," Mrs. Foley observed, "coffee an' pickles is th' best thing f'r him, barrin' p'ison. Go yer ways, an' I'll bring ut in whin ready."
They returned to the living room and the society of Blake. He met them with a scowl. He chose to interpret the fact that he had been left alone in the light of an insult. He was surly, glaring at Angus. The coffee, cold meat and pickles which presently appeared did not change his mood. The liquor dying in him left a full-sized grouch as a legacy.
Angus ignored his attitude. Faith tried to make conversation, but it was a failure. Time passed and it grew late. Apparently Blake was waiting out Angus. The latter did not know what to do, but he had no intention of leaving Blake behind him. Finally, however, he was forced to make a move. He bade Faith good night. She turned to Blake.
"Good night, Blake."
"Oh, I'm not going yet," he announced.
"It's late, Blake, and I'm tired."
"I want to talk to you."
"Not to-night, please. Come to-morrow."
"No, I'll talk to you to-night."