"Ten thous—" began Farley, but a swift, furious thrusting open of the parlor door interrupted, as Sarah Pound flung herself into the room. For a moment she was speechless with rage.... Shame would come later.... "You contemptible—contemptible—contemptible—" she cried, breathlessly. "It was a thing like you I—I could choose!... I could throw away a man for you!... For a suit of clothes, and manners, and a lying tongue.... I could compare Bob Allen with you—and choose you!... Oh!..."
"Sairy," said Scattergood.
"But I never would have done it—not that. I'd never have taken that paper.... You know I wouldn't, Mr. Baines. Say you know that...."
"Wa-al," said Scattergood, dryly, "they hain't no tellin' how fur a woman'll go when she's bein' bamboozled by a scamp—so I kind of insured ag'in' your takin' it by takin' it myself.... Er—Mr. Curtis, if I was you, I'd sort of slip out soft by the back door. Bob Allen's a-waitin' for you on the front porch.... There's a train at nine."
Scattergood put a clumsy arm about Sarah, who, the moment her wrathful energy ebbed away, sobbed and sobbed and sobbed with shame and fear.
"Hey, out there," shouted Scattergood, "git a move on you!"
Bob Allen needed no urging. His arm was substituted for Scattergood's, his breast for Scattergood's—and Sarah made no complaint. "I wouldn't.... I wouldn't.... You thought I did," she murmured.
"I thought that," said Bob, brokenly. "How can you ever forgive me?... I—But I love you, Sarah. Won't that make up for it?"
"You—believed it," she repeated, and Scattergood grinned.
"Dummed if she hain't managed to put him in the wrong.... You can't beat wimmin.... She's put him in the wrong."