Routt looked at Sam; then he protested: “No. I wanted to come. Honestly.”
“You never wanted anything honestly in your life, Jack,” she told him; and there was as much pity as anger in her voice. “I wouldn’t marry you. I wouldn’t look at you. Not if you were the last man in the world.”
No one said anything. They stood very still. Then Routt moved a little; and he turned, and he looked questioningly at Sam O’Brien. Sam had his hat in his hand. He dropped it, to leave his hands free. He opened the front door and stepped outside; and Routt followed him as though at a word of command.
Sam took him by the arm; then he closed the door. Wint looked at Hetty.
They heard a muffled, thudding sound. A hoarse cry. A scuffle of feet. The front gate banged.
When Wint opened the door, Sam was standing on one foot, precariously poised; and with his handkerchief he was carefully wiping the toe of his right shoe. Routt was not in sight.
Hetty came to the door beside Wint; and Sam looked at her humbly, and he asked:
“Will you walk along with me?”
Hetty, smiling a little tenderly, said: “You oughtn’t to have done that.”
“I can clean my shoe,” Sam explained, as though that were the only consideration. “Will you walk along with me?”