“They’re abed,” she said. “They’ve been abed an hour. But I—I think I’m scared.”
Sinclair shook his head.
“No, kid,” he said. “Not scared. That’s not you. I tell you I’d hate to stand up to the thing that could scare you. But you’ve nothing to be scared for anyway.”
He moved round the stove to the girl’s side, his pulses stirring. He sought to take her into his arms again, but, with a swift movement, the girl eluded him.
“What’s amiss?” he asked sharply.
“Nothin’, Ernie. Only—only—ther’ ain’t time to fool now.”
The man’s eyes were hot. All the worst in him was uppermost. His cooler, calculating mind was befogged by that passionate weakness he was powerless to deny. He wanted the girl more than he desired advancement at that moment.
“Why?” he cried, with a petulant snap of disappointment.
Annette gestured impatiently.
“Because I’ve got what you want, an’ must beat it right back to home before—before——”