She drew back still further. He saw her slim white figure standing before him erect and rigid against the wall. He caught the blazing scorn of her blue eyes.
"Say, Maud," he said in confused apology, "you're looking kind of vexed. It wasn't--any fault of mine. It was--it was--that fool--Saltash." He spoke the name with difficulty. His tongue felt dry and powerless. "Guess I want a drink," he said.
She spoke then, briefly and witheringly. "You had better go to bed and stay there till you feel better. There is plenty of water in your room if you want it."
Her words were icy. He felt as if she had flung the water of which she spoke full in his face. And then suddenly the truth flashed upon him, and he uttered a laugh.
"Columbus!" he said. "I believe you think I'm tipsy!"
She did not attempt to contradict him. "You had better go to bed," she reiterated.
He put up a trembling hand, but it was only to draw the cap down further still over his face. "I reckon I'd better," he said, and staggered past her to his room.
The door closed behind him, and Maud turned, white and quivering, from the scene.
"O God!" she whispered passionately. "What have I done? What have I done?"
CHAPTER XXVI