"Don't, Ernest."
"Don't what, Jenny?"
She sank down into the depths of the nearest chair.
"Oh—nothing." Her hands clinched themselves. "Nothing."
He came and stood quite close to her. He glanced quickly at her, puffing the while at his cigarette. She thought he looked wicked and pagan; hideous and yellow behind the rising smoke. His narrow eyes peered at her.
"Well, Jenny—out with it, my girl. Where've you been?"
She looked away from him. Her face was pale. In the twilight shadowed room he had seen how wide and strange her eyes were.
She made up her mind then that it was not worth bothering about. She would tell him the truth. She did not care how he took it.
"I've been to see—; to—see—father—"
She whispered the words. Her eyes wavered back to his face.