He threw down the poker, and, standing up, began to examine a specimen of ore that lay on the chimney-piece.
“If you want to know particularly,” he said, in a hard and would-be indifferent voice, “I came and sat in here by myself while those extras were going on.”
“That wasn’t a very cheerful thing to do.”
“Well, I didn’t feel very cheerful,” he answered, still with his back to me, and beginning to scrape the marble mantelshelf with the piece of ore which he held in his hand.
“Some one appears to have found a certain solace here,” I said, looking at the whiskey and water. “I am sure poor Mr. Croly has crept in from time to time, and put on his old coat and slippers, and tried to forget that there was a dance going on in his house.”
No answer from Willy.
“Then perhaps it was you,” I continued, with ill-assumed levity. “I am sorry to think that you have taken to such evil courses.”
He went on hammering at the chimney-piece without replying.
“It’s very rude of you not to answer; and you are ruining Mr. Croly’s mantelpiece.”
He put down the piece of ore suddenly, and, leaving the fireplace, came and stood over me.