"It was at that moment they took him away—almost fifteen years—it has been. He did not have to pay the extreme penalty. There were extenuating circumstances the judge thought. His time expires next month. I am waiting for him. I have been waiting for fifteen years. At least he will see that I have subjugated my vanity. I swore that I would never mend my damage until I could help him mend his."
With a little gesture of fatigue she turned to Rollins. "This is the story of the broken tooth," she finished, quite abruptly.
"Wasn't Allan John even listening?" I thought. With everyone else's eyes fairly glued to Ann Woltor's arresting face, even now, at the supreme climax of her narrative, his eyes seemed focussed far away. Instinctively I followed his gaze. At the top of the stairs, her arms holding tight to the banisters for support, sat the May Girl!
In the almost breathless moment that ensued, Rollins swallowed twice only too audibly.
"All the same"—insisted Rollins hesitatingly, "all the same— I really do think that——"
With a little cry that might have meant almost anything, the Bride jumped up suddenly and threw her arms around Ann Woltor's neck.
Even at twilight time everybody was still discussing the problem of the May Girl. Certainly there was plenty of problem to discuss.
The question of an innocent young girl on the very verge of her young womanhood. The question of a practically unknown mother. The question of a shattered unrelated man coming fresh to them from fifteen years in prison. The question even of Dr. Brawne. Everybody had his or her own impractical or unsatisfactory solution to suggest. Everybody, that is, except Allan John.
Allan John as usual had nothing to say.
Upstairs, in the privacy of her own room, Ann Woltor and the May Girl, without undue emotion, were very evidently threshing out the problem for themselves.