"Where?" The relentless voice was hard and cold.
"Here, and later in the city!"
"Did"—Janet paused and bent forward, her tense face burning and eager—"did you love her?" Why this question was wrung from her, the girl could not have told. It was in her heart and would have its way.
"No." Devant's voice was husky, but he would save the future from the clutch of the past, if it were in his power to do so.
"But she loved you!" For the life of him, the man could not face his accuser. His eyes dropped.
"I know! I know! You need not tell me. That is the reason she let you keep her picture!" She swayed. For the first time in her vigorous, young life Janet felt faint. Devant sprang toward her.
"Don't, please!" she cried, recovering herself almost at once and turning toward the door; "I'm going to my Cap'n Billy!"
"Janet!" He tried to stay her. He had much to say, if only he knew how to say it. She might be going to—what? An awful danger seemed to yawn at her innocent feet, but his early sin forbade his interference.
"I'm going to my Cap'n Billy!" There was no backward glance. Devant heard the outer door close; then he sank in his chair and bowed his head upon the two photographs.
"Where your mother went before you!" he groaned. "Poor little flotsam and jetsam!"