In an instant her resolve was taken. It came to her sullenly, obtusely, like the instinct of revenge to an animal. She did not stop to consider what she was doing, but, seizing a large stick, the handle of a brush that happened to have been broken, she stationed herself at the top of the landing. A feverish tremor agitated her as she waited in the semi-darkness of the stairs. But at last she heard the door open, and Dick came up slowly with his usual heavy tread. She made neither sign nor stir, but allowed him to get past her, and then, raising the brush-handle, she landed him one across the back. The poor man uttered a long cry, and the crash of broken glass was heard.
'What did you hit me like that for?' he cried, holding himself with both hands.
'You beast, you! I'll teach you to keep me waiting! You would, would you!
Do you want another? Go into the sitting-room.'
Dick obeyed humbly and in silence. His only hope was that the landlady had not been awakened, and he felt uneasily at his pockets, through which he could feel the gin dripping down his legs.
'Well, have you brought the drink I sent you for? Where is it?'
'Well,' replied Dick, desirous of conciliating at any price, 'it was in my pocket, but when you hit me with that stick you broke it.'
'I broke it?' cried Kate, her eyes glistening with fire.
'Yes, dear, you did; it wasn't my fault.'
'Wasn't your fault! Oh, you horrid wretch! you put it there on purpose that
I should break it.'
'Oh, now really, Kate,' he cried, shocked by the unfairness of the accusation, 'how could I know that you were going to hit me there?'