He was conscious of a considerable pause, and then of an uncertain step moving away from the counter. A fierce and reckless devil was riding him, and all his senses were acute to answer to the bit.
Presently he heard a shutter going gently into place, and then the step again, and a soft voice—almost with an entreating anguish in it, as if it would fain have its order discarded.
“Jim, you can go to bed.”
There followed a dragging sound and a heavy shuffling tread, that receded and died out.
He waited once more—interminably it seemed.
At length he made up his mind and strode out into the tap.
The girl was leaning silently against the counter, her breath coming fast, her cheeks the colour of ladysmocks.
Without a word he led her into the little room and swung to the door. He put her before him and, taking her face between his hands, looked into her frightened eyes.
“Do I terrify you, you little brown starling? I am overcome myself, half-silly with anger and contempt, and most of all, I think, with injured vanity.”
She gazed up at him from the depths of entreating eyes, and he saw the slow tears gathering in them.