“What did she say, dear?”
“That—I can’t!—and it was a damned lie——”
“Perhaps it wasn’t. Tell me.”
“I’m ashamed to.... She said a man was here—all night——”
“Oh,” she said disdainfully, “that was my husband. He pretended to be ill and starving and I let him in. When he got inside he tried to bully me. So I locked my door; and in the morning I turned him out.”
In the girl’s healthy and flushed contempt, making of a sinister situation only a squalid commonplace, the boy’s formless fears—all the tragic perplexity faded, burned out in a wholesome rage.
But into her grey eyes came the swift shadow of anxiety again and she took hold of him, impulsively, by both elbows.
“What am I going to do with you!” she cried in tender exasperation. “Will you smooth out that scowl and mind your business, darling? I can manage my own affairs. I’ve never been afraid of anything—except to-day. My only fear in the world is that you’ll get into mischief——”
“Well, do you think I’m going to sit still and let——”
“Will you mind your adorable business, Barry? You worry me. You’re on my mind. I’ve got to marry you as soon as I can I realise that——”