“Mr. Morton, you go next,” Clifford said brusquely. “You shouldn’t be found here by Jack when he comes to—which may be any minute. Mrs. Morton can take care of Jack. I’ll follow you as soon as I’ve had a word with her.”
A moment later Clifford was alone with Mary. He tried to keep his voice steady, but it did not altogether obey him.
“I merely wanted to say that Bradley, Loveman, and the others may not be satisfied. You exposed yourself completely, but you exposed no one else. You let them off easy, but they may be afraid of you. What they tried to-night they may try again. I wanted to ask you to be careful.”
“I will be,” she said.
“And I wanted to say that I hope everything is going to work out for the best for you. For you know”—he ended lamely, not very sure of what he was saying—“I really have wanted to be your friend.”
“I know you really have been my friend,” she answered—“my best friend. And I thank you.”
“Good-night,” he said.
“Good-night,” she answered, in her face a drawn, gray look.
For a moment he seemed unable to stir; then, “Good-night,” he repeated, and left her, gray-faced, and standing rigidly upright in the midst of the débris of the evening’s carousal—to wait the awakening of Jack.
Out on the sidewalk Clifford turned into a shadowy doorway; he was going to keep watch, and from a distance see Mary safely to the Mordona. Presently he was aware that Loveman was at his side, smiling his amiable smile.