He looked at her in dull amazement. Slowly he began to pull himself together.
“Yes. I think you should go to him. I—I gave him an hour to—to———”
“To get out?”
“Yes. He must go, you see. See him, if you will. I shall not oppose you. Find out what he expects to do.”
She passed swiftly by him as he started toward the door. In the hall, which was bright with the sunlight from the upper windows, she turned to face him. To his astonishment her cheeks were aglow and her eyes bright with eagerness. She seemed almost radiant.
“Yes; it needs breaking, James,” she said, and went up the stairs, leaving him standing there dumbfounded. Near the top she began to hum a blithe tune. It came down to him distinctly—the weird little air that had haunted him for years—Feverelli's!
CHAPTER XVIII
To Brood's surprise she came half-way down the steps again, and, leaning over the railing, spoke to him with a voice full of irony.