As Wilkinson obeyed, Mossup put his hand on his arm to hold him back, but Charnock interfered:
“You sit down right now. Understand, everybody, what Mrs. Charnock says goes.”
“Certainly,” Wilkinson agreed. “Get off to bed Mossup; you'll have a swelled head all right to-morrow, as it is. I'll put out the light, Mrs. Charnock; guess I'll do it better than Bob.”
“Think I can't put out a common old lamp?” Charnock inquired. “Destroy the blamed thing 'fore I let it beat me.”
“You're not going to try,” said Wilkinson, who hustled him and Mossup out of the room and then held the door open for Sadie.
She thanked him, but felt that if she had ground to fear resentment, it was not Mossup's but his. Wilkinson had manners, but she knew he did not like to be robbed of an easy victim, and it was possible that he had let Bob win until he was drunk enough to be fleeced. She waited a few moments to let the others go, and then went upstairs and stopped in a passage that led to her room. Her face was hot and she breathed fast, for her part in the scene had cost her something. It would have been different had Charnock not been there; she could have dealt with the others, but he had made her ashamed. Then she heard his step and turned with passionate anger as he came along the passage. He stopped and looked at her with drunken admiration.
“By George, you're a fine thing, Sadie! Handsomest and pluckiest woman in the township!”
Sadie said nothing, but her pose stiffened and her lips set tight.
“Look your best when you're angry,” Charnock went on. “Not quite so 'tractive, too pale and want animation, when you're calm.”
She did not answer, but felt a quiver of repulsion. His voice was thick, his eyes had a stupid amorous look, and he smelt of whisky. Sadie was not remarkably fastidious; she had, for several years, managed a hotel, and had used her physical charm to attract the man, but she was jarred. As yet, she made no appeal to the better side of Bob's nature, if it had a better side, and his sensual admiration revolted her.