CHAPTER XVI
Before he could close the drawer completely I caught his arm and held it.
“George,” I cried, “George, what is the matter? Tell me; you must tell me.”
He tried to pull his arm free. Finding that I would not let him do this he gave up the attempt and, with a poor attempt at a laugh, answered, “Matter? Why, nothing is the matter. I am tired and nervous, same as I've told you I've been for the last two or three months, and you scared me, tiptoeing in like a sneak thief, this time of night.”
“Time of night! It is but a little after nine. What is the matter with you?”
“Nothing is the matter, I tell you. Let go of my arm, Ros. What do you mean by holding on to me like this?”
“What do YOU mean, George? What does THAT mean?”
I pointed to the drawer. He looked and, with a sudden effort, jerked his arm free and closed the drawer.
“That?” with a forced laugh. “Oh, that's nothing. It was late and I was alone here, so—”