“Hello,” Lewis remarked, coming back. “The coast is clear now.”
Neil followed him into his office and took the patients’ chair. But memory assailed him in the act and he went a little pale. The feeling passed quickly, however. That page had been turned forever, he knew well. His cure was permanent. Heaven would not take back its boon.
“Where’s Petra?” he asked. “I suppose you packed her off to Meadowbrook early. I’m glad.”
“Yes, I did exactly that. You didn’t pass her on the road?”
“No, but I wasn’t expecting to, you see. I drove like blazes. But I’m going right back. Pretty plucky of Petra, don’t you think, to come right along to work this morning! I couldn’t. I couldn’t have gone to work this morning if not going would bring the end of the world.”
“Well, Petra’s not working on commission. We have to keep hours here,” Lewis remarked shortly. “You’re your own boss. That’s different.”
Lewis could not interpret the odd, quick look Neil gave him then. But that did not matter. What right had the man to sit there so victorious and exalted, speaking of Petra! Petra’s face had grown thin over night. There had been no exaltation and glow on its pallor this day. But Lewis was aware that Neil’s exaltation—if that was the word for the light in his face—was of a grave variety. Not blatant. It was refined of all dross, to the most casual eye. Gorgeousness had given place to something deeper, richer.... Lewis felt his own expression of countenance to be evil. It was as if he could feel a thin mask forming over his face,—particularly ugly around his mouth and eyes. He looked at Miss Frazier’s door knob. He dared not look at McCloud any more. But hate had not returned. Only the awful fear that it might return was stiffening his lips,—his eyelids. For if it did return, here while he faced McCloud, it would be hate of the killing sort. He would hurl himself at the man physically, destroy him if he could—or be destroyed.... He had better smoke. They had better both smoke.
Neil refused the cigarette. Well, the gods on Olympus didn’t smoke little white cigarettes. But Lewis had no nectar to proffer this young giant, face and body aglow with some sweet, secret victory, eyes sea-blue and steady, long-limbed, free-postured, at ease in the patients’ chair. What right had such a being to usurp the place where misery came, year in year out? Why in God’s name was Neil here?
“Has Petra told you anything about last night?” Neil asked. “I guess she hasn’t, or you wouldn’t have spoken about her having to keep hours as you did just now.”
Lewis shook his head. Then he trusted his voice. “No. I know nothing. Except that the child ran away from her birthday party last night,—said she was going to bed with a headache but ran out the front door instead, without a wrap, and got back at eight this morning, still in her party dress and fagged almost to the danger point. But she’s going to tell me. She wants to, I think. I am going out there to-night. Petra has let me assume a responsibility to her. And I might as well tell you, McCloud, that she is as precious to me—and her welfare as precious—as if she were my own flesh and blood. You’d better understand that. Now what are you here for?”