Wilfred, nearly suffocated by the beating of his heart, silently shook his head.
“Well . . . any time you feel like it . . . come on down. You’ll find me somewheres around those corners. . . . I’ll show you ’round.”
Joe ran down the steps thinking: Funny look that kid’s got. But I got him going. Wonder why he takes it so hard? . . . Oh, to hell with them; the whole three of them is easy! I can get what I want out of them. . . .
Wilfred closed the door, and leaned his forehead against the ornamental glass pane. It had a sort of Gothic arch cut in the glass, from which depended a number of meaningless tails, each winding up in a curlicue. Wilfred, nauseated, was thinking:
“Any time . . . any time . . . that means I’ll have to fight it every night. . . . Wouldn’t it be better to give in at once, and save all that? . . . Disgust might cure me. . . .”
From the drawing-room Aunt May called him.
VI
Mrs. Boardman poured her sister a second cup of coffee. Wilfred had just departed for school, and the sisters were able to talk more freely.
“Sister,” said Mrs. Boardman, looking very uncomfortable, “do you . . . do you entirely believe Joe’s story?”
Miss Gittings looked no less uncomfortable, but answered quickly: “I see no reason. . . . Huh? . . . Obviously Joe was too ignorant to . . . anyhow, you and I agreed long ago that it was better to be deceived than to be sceptical!”