Lola should not do this thing! This man should not be allowed to blast her life! It would be better to get him by the throat, and drag him out of the car, and, no matter what, kill him if necessary. What came after did not count. This girl, the girl he loved, should not give her fresh beauty to this beast, soul and body to his vicious pleasures. He was in time, thank God for that! They saw him now, he could read the look of terror in Dick’s face, the queer expression of fascinated interest, almost of delight in Lola’s eyes, and he put all his strength into one last effort.
As he sprang forward, his eyes on Dick, he heard a shrill whistle. The long line broke, the car seemed to leap from under his hands, he heard men cry out, angrily; he felt rough hands hurl him back to the sidewalk, and he saw Lola standing up, leaning over the back of the car, looking back, and laughing at him.
CHAPTER XIII
LOLA GOES TO FENWAY'S
It seemed to Dr. Crossett, waiting there in the room, with this silent old man, that John had been gone a very long time. It was almost morning now, five hours, time enough surely for much to have happened. He had insisted, some hours before, on Maria’s going to bed, for in spite of her grief she was so tired by the emotions of the evening, that it was impossible for her to keep her eyes open, and he had discovered her, sitting upright in a chair, sound asleep, with the tears rolling down her cheeks.
He had made many efforts to induce Dr. Barnhelm to speak of Lola, and of the events leading up to her sudden desertion of them, but to all his questions, or remarks, the old man refused any answer, other than to look up, almost vacantly, and shake his head.
LOLA IN DICK FENWAY’S ROOMS.
“He is stunned,” thought Dr. Crossett. “As yet his brain is too numbed to realize; to-morrow, unless John brings her home, he will be desperate.” Would she come home? That was the question. That she had been extravagant, and, through a desire for beautiful clothes, had been, little by little, led into a maze of debts, of which she had been afraid to tell them, and that the sudden temptation, when she had unexpectedly come upon that roll of bank notes, had been too much for her to resist. All this was obvious, and, sad as it was, was not unforgivable. That she had deceived John, however, and, day after day, had lied to him, and gone to the man whom, of all others, she had most reason to avoid, was a treachery hard to excuse, even to this man, who was doing his very best to find excuses.
What was the outcome to be? He could not decide. There had been so much of real hate, and contempt, in her manner to them, that it was out of the question to put it all down to excitement, or girlish anger.