“Mr. Randall,” she said, “Mr. Page has come home, and—”
She stopped, and he saw a change come across her face—that cold and scornful look again. When she had to put this thing into words, the shamefulness and the ugliness of it were not to be disguised.
“So they sent me,” she went on curtly, “to say that you had better not come back now.”
“I see!” said Randall. “I’m to run away, when Jesse comes? Well, I won’t!”
She had not expected this.
“But don’t you see?” she said vehemently. “You’ll have to, on—on Mrs. Page’s account.”
“I won’t!” he declared again.
They were both silent for a moment.
“Look here!” he said abruptly. “How did you get mixed up in this? Why did you come?”
“Because—I wanted—to help,” she answered, as if the words were hard to speak.