Andrews, too, pulled himself together—shook himself free, as it were, of the dread, deathlike inertia that had held him passive and followed to the room door. And there Nina's voice came back to him from the lighted entrance-hall.
"You mustn't go! You must not! I want to see you. I want to make it all clear."
"It's clear enough as it is," he heard Kneedrock say. "Infernally clear, and—funny. You'd try to take the fun out of it. I know what you'd do. I always know what you'd do. You've never fooled me yet. That's because I never let you shut my eyes with your kisses—because I'm strong enough to keep you out of my arms."
There was silence for the briefest moment, and it was Kneedrock's voice that resumed: "Keep your hands off me. Good Lord, if there's one thing I fear it's your velvet paws! I've seen the sharp claws too often. For God's sake, Nina, keep them off, I say!"
"You'll come back?" she pleaded.
"I'll come back if you won't touch me."
"But your mackintosh is dripping, and your hat. Give them to me."
Andrews heard their steps approaching and withdrew from the doorway. He wished to avoid the madman, yet feared to leave Nina alone with him.
Then he noticed that Tara was still in the room—on guard, as it were—and seeing a connecting door ajar, he slipped through it, closing it after him.
The staghound snarled again as Nibbetts returned; but at a word from Nina he retreated and lay down, stretched at full length, his watchful eyes still fixed, however, on the viscount, who took a stand before the fireplace, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his morning coat, and his gaze on the floor.