They were in the little work-room together, and Murdoch, leaning back in his chair with his hands clasped behind his head, looked before him without replying, except by a slight knitting of his brows.
Haworth laughed harshly.
"Confound him for a fool!" he said. "I'm sick of the chap, with his talk. He'll stir me up some o' these days."
Then he looked up at his companion.
"He has you up there every night or so," he said. "What does he want of you?"
"Never the same thing twice," said Murdoch.
"Do you—always see her?"
"Yes."
The man moved in his seat, a sullen red rising to his forehead.