She watched while he lighted a match, held it to the paper, smiling as the licking flames consumed it. He was entirely composed now, and through the gathering darkness of the interior of the office she saw a sneer come into his face.
“I shall do all I can to assist you to discontinue the associations which are so distasteful to you. You will start for the East immediately, I presume?”
“To-morrow,” she said. “In the afternoon. I shall have my trunks taken over to Lazette in the morning.”
“In the morning?” said Langford, puzzled. “Why not ride over with them, in the afternoon, in the buckboard?”
“I shall ride my pony. The man can return him.” She took a step toward the door, but halted before reaching it, turning to look back at him.
“I don’t think it is necessary for me to say good-by. But you have not treated me badly in the past, and I thank you—for that—and wish you well.”
“Where are you going?”
Sheila had walked to the door and stood with one hand on the latch. He came and stood beside her, a suppressed excitement in his manner, his eyes gleaming brightly in the dusk which had suddenly fallen.
“I think I told you that before. Ben Doubler is alone, and he needs care. I am going to him—to stay with him until the doctor arrives. He will die if someone does not take care of him.”
“You are determined to continue to meddle, are you?” he said, his voice quivering with anger, his lips working strangely. “I am sick of your damned interference. Sick of it, I tell you!” His voice lowered to a harsh, throaty whisper. “You won’t leave this office until to-morrow afternoon! Do you hear? What business is it of yours if Doubler dies?”