They heard the woman hurrying up the stairs after him. She was out of breath with crying, and there was a choking sound in her voice when she spoke to them through the door.
“You’d better let him have it,” she said.
“I guess they’d better,” said the man, roughly. “Who’d’ they suppose owns the house?”
Robin got up and took a dollar from their very small store, which was hidden in the lining of his trousers. He went to the door and opened it a little, and held the money out.
“Here it is,” he said.
The man snatched it out of his hand and turned away, and went stumbling down stairs, still growling. The woman stood a minute on the landing, and they heard her make a pitiful sort of sound, half sob, half sniff.
Meg sat up in bed, with her chin on her hands, and glared like a little lioness.
“What do you think of that?” she said.
“He’s a devil!” said Robin, with terseness. And he was conscious of no impropriety. “I wanted that boy to have it, and go.” It was not necessary to say where.
“So did I,” answered Meg. “And I believe his mother would have given it to him, too.”