The girl stood for half a minute in direct focus from his place of observation, and the gas-light fell full upon her face and figure.
Darrell drew in a long breath.
“That settles it,” he muttered, “I’ll try—unless this other affair takes the heart out of me.”
He had lived between thirty-five and forty years without ever having a serious love scrape; but an inward monitor told him his time had come at last.
The little god plays all manner of pranks with his victims, and although Eric Darrell had eluded his sway so long, it would all be made up to him presently.
As Marian stood there she was joined by a second figure.
This was Joe.
Eric scanned his face eagerly, as best he could under the circumstances.
“Thank heaven! Joe is calm. He has aroused his energies. No danger of his giving out when the crucial test comes,” he muttered.
Joe Leslie did appear self-possessed, but it was easy to be seen that he was not himself this evening.