"I—I'd like you to," he stammered eagerly. "It's an instinct to do one's best for Jim Aikens—especially for me."
She realised then how near the danger line they had been, and how firmly he had steered them to safety. It seemed to give her the chance to place their relationship on the old innocent level, when compliments were no deeper than their wording.
"And what of Jim's wife—is she worthy of such a paragon, or——"
"Jim's wife," he repeated vaguely.
"Perhaps she's the evil influence you call a god."
He turned on her with dilated eyes.
"You knew—you—knew? My God! She knew!"
Her knees were trembling with a sudden overwhelming fear, but she stumbled over to the table beside him and stared into his reluctant eyes.
With a burst the outer door opened and Cockney entered. At sight of the two standing there so close, the man's eyes falling before hers, his great shoulders shook and his chin went out.
"Ah!" It was a breath rather than a word. "So this is what you do when I'm away? This is what guest number two does to requite our hospitality? Is this the way of palæontologists, or of Americans, or"—his voice went hard as steel—"of a sneaking cur who represents nothing but the vicious things that make beasts of men?"