MACROMBIE IS SACKED
Tall, lithe, vigorous, masterful, they confronted each other across the gulf that suddenly opened between them—the bottomless chasm that yawns between Faith and Unbelief.
In the fitful uncanny light, the darker side of Patrine started into sinister prominence. Her defiant face was masked by shadow, but the fierce vibrating voice and towering shape had something of the fallen angel. Had wide sable pinions sprung and bannered from her shoulders, Sherbrand would hardly have been surprised.
"Let us draw the line at that. If we are to be friends—and I would like us to be!—agree to it! But since you have what I have not—you would call it Faith, no doubt," he guessed the wide mouth curving in a jeering smile, "there is nothing to prevent you from praying for Aunt Lynette and for Bawne too! Unless you are the kind of physician who draws the line at taking his own drugs!"
If she had thought to disconcert Sherbrand she erred. He said instantly:
"I give you my word of Honour that I will pray for them! But there is one other person much dearer to me than either. You don't ask me for her, but all the same..."
"You kind, dear boy! Pray for me all you want to!"
She was his big, smiling girl of the Milles Plaisirs, and the Pat young Bawne worshipped, as she stretched out her beautiful, massive arm and offered him a cordial hand.
"Shake, Mister! Making love to me one minute and bally-ragging me the next! ... Great Scott! Ah!—I've said it again—and I gave you my word I'd not!"
He took the hand in a close grasp, sought for the other and took it also....