"She's a lively young woman," said the policeman, and slowly unlocked the door. George was admitted, and then Jeremiah, so as to give the lovers--as he thought them--an opportunity of meeting unobserved, retired, locking the door after him. Lola and George were together.
She was seated by the window staring out into the darkness. On the table was a small lamp, and a fire burned in the grate. Lola started up when the door closed again. "Who is--who is?" she asked in her rapid way, and came toward him.
"Lola," began George, but he got no further. She ran forward and flung herself with tears at his feet, clutching his legs and wailing:
"Oh, my dear one, hast thou come in anger? Trample me, make me as earth, beloved, but be not enraged--ah, no--ah, no!"
"Lola. Get up and don't be a fool," said Brendon, speaking roughly to brace her nerves.
She rose, sobbing, and crept to a chair in a slinking manner, quite unlike her usual free grace. She did not raise her eyes, and George was pained to see the change. Badly as she had acted, he felt sorry at beholding her depressed, and like a sick beast in confinement.
"Lola," he said, taking a chair near her, "I have come as your friend."
"Not in anger--ah, but yes, in anger."
"I am not angry. I am very sorry."
"Ah, but in your eyes--they sparkle. I see Mees Vards. I do try to steal the church books. You are furiously enraged."