She turned hurriedly, her hands outspread across the doorway as by instinct.
“Don’t,” she begged; “please go away.” Then as he wheeled, “No, wait—” She swallowed before she could speak.
“It’s Molly,” she said; “can you send us back to town? she’s—she’s—”
“Not well,” the daughter was trying to say. The boy’s straightforward eyes were fixed on hers inquiringly.
“What’s the use; I can’t lie,” the girl broke down miserably. “I ought not to have come with her.” Her arms dropped from across the doorway. In all perplexity he was waiting. He had a glimpse of Molly within, drooping against the table, and her eyes regarding them with a kind of furtive fear.
His hunting flask from out the cellarette was there on the table.
The girl was speaking with effort. “I’m sorry; she must have felt bad and found it.”
She suddenly hid her face in her hands against the casement.
That roused him. He felt dazed. It needed a woman here to feel the way.
“I’ll get mother,” he said.