The refusal placed a last obstacle in the path of George's scheme, but he did not demur. Primarily he dared not. To demur might raise again that blunder he had let escape when he had said, “She'll come for anything”; this time it might rage around and not be captured. All might be wrecked. Secondly he felt there to be no great need for protest. The confidence of having won thus far gave him courage against this final difficulty.
“Trust me, sir,” he said.
Very soberly he paced from the room; gently closed the door; with the tread of one bearing a full heart heavily moved up the stairs.
He reached his room; ripped off sobriety. “Oh, Mary!” he exultantly cried, “if I can get you down here, old girl!”
Mr. Marrapit, meanwhile, stepped to the room where his cats lived; lovingly toyed with his pets; took the Rose of Sharon a walk in the garden. He was in pleasant mood. Great had been the distress of the night, but this man had enjoyed a luxurious warm bath—in crocodile's tears.