Ronnie's voice was calm and deep. Steppe, turning to find the switch, swung back again and peered at his face.
"What's that?" he asked sharply. "I said there wasn't—what have you done to your voice? Here!"
He walked across the room and ran his hand down the three switches.
Ronnie screwed up his eyes to meet the painful brilliance.
He saw Beryl's look of surprise, met the stare of the big man.
"He's been crying!" bellowed Steppe in delight. "Huh, huh! Look at him, Beryl, sniveling!"
"Mr. Steppe—Jan! How can you!"
"How can I? By God, he's been sniveling! Look at his face, look at his eyes!" Steppe slapped his thigh in an ecstasy of joy. "So it got you, huh? I couldn't understand how a fellow like you could see it, without curling up!"
His coarseness, the malignity, the heartlessness of the man sickened Beryl Merville. But Ronnie—! He was serene, unmoved by the other's taunts, meeting his eyes steadily.
"It was dreadful—so dreadful, Steppe. To see that poor shrieking thing thrust forward, struggling—"