“My dear Nan, why do you ask me if I guess things—when facts are the consuming passion of my life! If I was ever of the slightest service to you it was unconscious good fortune on my part. And I hope there may be many such occasions! But, Nan,”—he waited until he was quite sure of her attention,—“Nan, we can’t rely too much on the man on shore in emergencies. He won’t always reach us in time. We’ve got to mind the thin ice ourselves—skate away as soon as we hear it cracking! We can’t trust to chance. Luck supports sound judgment—mainly. And we’ve got to fight our own battles.”
“But if you’re a worthless, wobbly person like me, what are you going to do?” she demanded.
“Cease wobbling! Good-night!”
Eaton had not been gone more than five minutes when a light knock on the glass panel of the front door startled her. The clocks through the house had just struck ten and she had dismissed the maid for the night. The rap was repeated more loudly, and stealing to the door she drew back a corner of the curtain and peered out. Copeland stood in the entry, plainly revealed by the overhead light; his hand was lifted for another knock.
Her heart throbbed with fear and anger. Billy had no right to come at this hour in this furtive fashion—and on this day, of all days, to the house of the man who had so cordially hated him. She waited a moment hoping he would go away, but he began beating upon the glass.
This clearly would not do, and she drew back the bolt and opened the door a few inches.
“Please go away! You have no right to come here at this time of night!”
He seized the door as she was about to close it and forced his way past her.
“I’ve got to see you a minute—just a minute,” he said eagerly. “It’s a matter of importance or I shouldn’t have come to-night. I thought it best not to wait. It’s really a serious matter, Nan!”
“You have no right to come at all,” she replied angrily. “What if the neighbors saw you! they know I’m alone. You know this won’t do; please go, Billy!” she pleaded.