“Oh!” she wailed between the convulsive spasms of emotion that shook her. “Oh, my God! D’you think I’d be doin’ this if we didn’t! No, no! Oh, dear!”
The Sergeant’s brows contracted with a sudden, sharp, lowering glance.
“Who’s we?” he inquired with significant interest.
With a few long-drawn, shuddering sobs, like a child that has been scolded for crying, she quieted down curiously at his question and, presently pulling out a handkerchief, began to dry her eyes.
He reiterated his query, but she only stared back at him with dumb, though not defiant, obstinacy, as before.
“You stayin’ here?” He indicated the cottage. She nodded. He turned on his heel and prepared to depart.
“You go in then, kid; you’re cold,” he said. “You be a good girl, now, an’ don’t get chippyin’ round no more or you’ll be gettin’ into trouble. Good night.”
And, leaving her gazing after him wistfully, he rejoined the waiting doctor, and they moved off slowly back the way they had come.
“Moral reformer, eh! for a change?” Musgrave remarked with a flippant, gibing laugh. “Well, it isn’t worse than many of your vagaries. We shall have you entering Holy Orders next, I suppose?”
In his heart the savage old cynic approved; but, for the life of him, he could not check the sneer.