Lewis looked up. Leighton rose, and laid one hand on his shoulder.
"Boy," he said, "don't make a mistress out of anything that has touched
H lne. You owe that to me."
"I won't, Dad," gulped Lewis. He snatched up his hat and stick and hurried out into the open.
CHAPTER XXXIX
LEIGHTON'S heart ached for his boy as he watched him go, and during the next few weeks Iris pity changed into an active anxiety. In setting that trap—he could call it nothing else—for Lew, he and H lne had put forces into conflict that were not amenable to any light control. Lewis had passed his word. Leighton knew he would never go back on it. On the other hand, for the first time in all her life Folly's primal instinct was being balked by a denial she could comprehend only as having its source in Leighton rather than in Lew.
Folly was being eaten away by desire. She was growing desperate. So were Marie and the masseuse. When a morning came that found Folly with purple shadows under her eyes their despair became terror.
"Madame," cried Marie, "why don't you marry him? You've got to stop it. You've got to stop it. Anyway, all ways, you've got to stop it. It's a-eating of you up. If you're a loving of him that much, why don't cher?"
"Loving of him!" sneered Folly. "I—I hate him. No, no, that's not true. I don't hate Lew, poor dear. It's them I hate. And I won't be beaten." She pounded her doubled knee with her fist. "I don't want to marry him; but if they push me, if they keep on pushing me——"
It can be seen from the above that Lew was beginning to get on Folly's nerves. She had long since begun to get on his. When they were with others it was all right; Folly was her old self. But whenever they were alone, the same wordy battle began and never ended. Lew grew morose, heavy. He avoided his father, but he could do no work; so time hung on his hands, and began to rot away his fiber as only too much time can.
One day H lne sent for Leighton.