“I know,” Dick said grimly. “Do you mind going on home alone, Betty? You’ll be perfectly safe with Williams, you know.”
“Of course not. What are you going to do, Dick? Are you going to Nancy?”
“No, I’m not going to Nancy.”
Betty, looking at him more closely, realized for the first time that she was sitting beside a man in whom the rage of the primitive animal was gaining its ascendency. His breath was coming in short stertorous gasps, his hands were clinched, the purplish color was mounting to his brows, but he still went through the motions of a courteous leave-taking.
“Where are you going, Dick?” she asked again, as he stood on the curb where he had signaled Williams to leave him, with the door of the car in his hand, staring down at it, and for the moment forgetting to close it.
“I’m going to find Collier Pratt,” he said thickly. Then with a slam that splintered the hinge of the door he was holding he crashed it in toward the car.