He did not come into the den immediately but roamed about, into the parlor, down the passage, and into his own room. He spread the scent of his cigar and its accompanying films of smoke all through the flat, a thing that Berny would never have ordinarily allowed. To-night she was too occupied in listening to his prowling steps to bother about minor rules and regulations. She saw in his restlessness a disturbance evoked by her questionings.
“Aren’t you coming into the den?” she called, as she heard him pacing steadily along the passageway.
“No,” he called back. “The moonlight’s shining in at every window. It makes me restless. I don’t feel like sitting still.”
She sat on the divan, a paper spread before her face, but her eyes were slanted sidewise, unblinking in the absorption of her attention. Suddenly she heard a rattling sound which she knew to be from the canes and umbrellas in the hat-rack. She cast away the paper, and, drawing herself to the edge of the divan, peered down the passage. Dominick was standing by the hat-rack, his hat on the back of his head, his hand feeling among the canes.
“You’ve got your hat on,” she called in a high key of surprise. “You’re not going out?”
“Yes, I am,” he answered, drawing out the cane he wanted. “It’s a fine night, and I’m going for a walk.”
“For a walk?”—there was hesitancy in her tone, and for a horrible moment, he thought she was going to suggest coming with him. “Where are you going to?”
“Oh, I don’t know, just prowl about. I want some exercise.”
“Are you going to your mother’s?” she ventured, not without some timidity.
“No,” he said, “I’m not going anywhere in particular. Good night.”