Dr. Harpe laughed—a foolish, apologetic laugh.
"Spooks—Nell! I'm nervous—I'm all unstrung. Moses! I thought all the arms and legs we've amputated were chasin' me upstairs. Did you hear me scream?"
"No," the woman reiterated sharply. "Dan Treu was here. He wants to see you most particular."
"You didn't tell him——"
"Of course not."
"You won't go back on me, Nell?"
The woman regarded her in cold dislike.
"No, I'll not go back on you, Harpe. A man or a woman that ain't got some redeemin' trait, some one thing that you can bank on, is no good on earth, and stickin' to them I've throwed in with happens to be mine. What you goin' to do? stay and brazen it out—this mess you're in—or quit the flat?"
"Nell," she replied irrelevantly with a quick, uncertain glance around, "I'm afraid. Do you know what it is to be afraid?"
"I've been scart," the woman answered curtly.