'Suppose I slapped.'
'Slap all you like.'
'What would Martha Caldwell say?'
There was a gloomy sort of anger on Henry's red face. He jerked her violently toward him.
'Stop! You're hurting my wrist!' With which she yielded a little. He found himself about to take her in his arms. He heard her whispering—'For Heaven's sake be careful! They'll surely hear!'
He was most unhappy. He pushed her roughly away, and rushed to the window.,
He knew from the silence that she was lingering. He hated her. And himself.
She said: 'Well, you needn't get mad.'
Then, slowly, cautiously, she let herself out. He heard her moving composedly along the hall.
He felt weak. And deeply guilty. For a long time this moment had been a possibility; now it had taken place. What if some one had seen her come in! What if she should come again! What if she should tell!...