Philip fetched him away eventually, but had not even the favour of a look from Rhoda. She kept down her head, biting back tears and words of rage and grief.
'I think he means well—does Philip,' sighed Giles unhappily.
Lois said bitterly: 'Like Samson blind, he goes to make sport for the Philistines.'
Rhoda broke into passionate weeping.
'Ah, ah!' she cried, 'it is unbearable. At every turn strangers I saw—who have come and heard—who will see, and our Christian will hear—alone, all alone. Oh, would that I were a brother to stand by him! Philip mean well! He prides himself on it, he parades it as a virtue, and to himself pretends that he does not hate. But once, he forgot, and looked—and I saw—hate—hate and fear. And I know, though he do contrary, that his blood will dance for joy at any affront to Christian. I know—and he takes Christian out to show!'
Giles got on his feet.
'If I am ever to tread the old quay, it may well be to-day.'
The remonstrance of Lois lacked vigour. He took help of Rhoda's shoulder the length of the downward street, and then shambled off alone to Christian's protection.
One, two, three hours passed, and twilight. Then back they came, Christian's ample strength charged with the old man's weight. Giles swore within his beard in his way that the women knew.
'He takes his way for no asking or need of mine,' he declared gruffly; 'and he might use his strength to better purpose.'