Vessinger drew her wrap more closely about her, with an air of domination, and she followed submissively through the deserted alleys of the dark garden, listening to his tense words, in a lethargy of spirit....
There was an eruption from the brilliant house. Men’s voices reached the pair in the garden. The voices protested, coaxed; for a time they faded away to the other side of the house. Then they returned, and the woman in the garden heard her husband speaking thickly and loudly.
“That’s all right, boys. But I must find my wife, first. Dixey says he saw her go out here, when I was singing.”
She started involuntarily, but the doctor restrained her.
“They will take him away,” he whispered, “in a minute.”
Evidently that was what his companions were endeavoring to do, but Simmons with drunken obstinacy persisted in his point.
“Yes,” he said, in his loud, confident voice, “I’ll go with you all right, just as soon as I find my wife. Never left my wife. It wouldn’t be right, you know!”
She slipped her arm from her companion, and walked rapidly toward the terrace, Vessinger following her.
“I am here, Olaf,” she said, going up to the knot of men. “Are you looking for me?”
His companions separated awkwardly,—all but one, who held Simmons’s swaying figure.