He looked from Sam to the other. Routt’s collar, he saw, was rumpled; and there were little beads of perspiration on Sam’s forehead. Wint hesitated. Sam said huskily:
“I know you don’t want this skunk in your house, Wint. But is—she here?”
“Yes,” Wint told him.
“Well, this thing wants to see her,” Sam explained. “Speak up, you.” He looked at Routt.
Routt said: “Yes.” He ran a finger around inside his collar.
Wint moved aside. “Come in,” he agreed; and they stepped into the hall. Then Hetty came out of the sitting room. She had heard their voices, heard what they said. She stood very still, looking at Jack Routt with inscrutable eyes.
Routt looked from Sam to Wint furtively. Then he looked at Hetty; and he moved toward her as though he expected violence. Two paces from where she stood, he stopped; he fidgeted. At last he said:
“Will you marry me?”
There was a parrot-like quality in his voice that made Wint, even in that moment, want to smile. Hetty did smile; she said quietly:
“I suppose Sam brought you here.”