"Is it you, Jim?" she faltered.
"Yes, Millie. It's me—come back. You don't feel the way you did before, do you, girl?" He suddenly subdued his voice—as though recollecting a caution. "You ain't going to send me away, are you?" he asked.
"Go 'way!" she complained. "Leave me alone."
He came nearer.
"Give me a show, Jim," she begged. "Go 'way. It ain't fair to come—now. Hear me?" she cried, in protest against his nearer approach, her voice rising shrilly. "It ain't fair——"
"Hist!" he interrupted. "You'll wake the——"
She laughed harshly. "Wake what?" she mocked. "Eh, Jim? What'll I wake?"
"Why, Millie!" he exclaimed. "You'll wake the boy."
"Boy!" she laughed. "What boy? There ain't no boy. Look here!" she cried, rushing impetuously to the bed, throwing back the coverlet, wildly tossing the pillows to the floor. "What'll I wake? Eh, Jim? Where's the boy I'll wake?" She turned upon him. "What you saying 'Hist!' for? Hist!" she mocked, with a laugh. "Talk as loud as you like, Jim. You don't need to care what you say or how you say it. There ain't nobody here to mind you. For I tell you," she stormed, "there ain't no boy—no more!"
He caught her hand.