"Keep away from me," he muttered, "I've told you all I know. I'm no further use…. Keep clear of me…. I'm sorry—to be—what I am."
"When I leave what are you going to do?" she asked gently.
"Do? I'll dress and go to the nearest bar."
"Do you need it so much already?"
He nodded his bowed head covered by the hand that gripped his hair:
"Yes, I need it—badly."
She rose, loosened his clutch on her slender hand, picked up her muff:
"I'll be waiting for you downstairs," she said simply.
His face expressed sullen defiance as he passed through the waiting-room. Yet he seemed a little taken aback as well as relieved when Miss Erith did not appear among the considerable number of people waiting there for discharged patients. He walked on, buttoning his fur coat with shaky fingers, passed the doorway and stepped out into the falling snow. At the same moment a chauffeur buried in coon-skins moved forward touching his cap:
"Miss Erith's car is here, sir; Miss Erith expects you."
McKay hesitated, scowling now in his perplexity; passed his quivering hand slowly across his face, then turned, and looked at the waiting car drawn up at the gutter. Behind the frosty window Miss Erith gave him a friendly smile. He walked over to the curb, the chauffeur opened the door, and McKay took off his hat.