Hora was speaking.
"So you have found your way back to your native slum, Myra. Do you find it congenial to your dainty spirit? I see your mother is celebrating your return. One day you will be like her." He wheeled round rapidly and glanced at the man at his elbow. "You have found an admirer, too, as well as a mother. You have lost no time."
Myra threw out her hands imploringly.
"Take me away, Commandatore. Take me away," she cried. She saw that Hora hesitated, and she renewed her appeal.
"Why should I take you away?" he answered. "I offered you a husband and a home. You let them escape you." He jerked his head to the man. "Hagan here will supply you with both. Why should I interfere?"
The hope died out of her face and the fear reappeared as the man lurched forward.
"'Ear what the Master says; e's a toff at spoutin', is the Master," he said, with an ugly leer on his face.
She shrank from his touch, and looked vainly round for a way of escape. Kenly thought of a hare he had once seen as it doubled almost at his feet from two pursuing greyhounds. He placed his whistle between his lips ready.
"Stand back, Hagan," said Hora authoritatively.
The man dropped his hand, but there was a frown on his face.