"I know you are dying to go see what is going on," she said. "You simply must not stay here any longer on my account. I insist! Indeed, I think I'll go to bed." But Ben Sansome, his manner becoming almost caressingly protective, would not listen.
"It isn't safe to leave you alone," he told her. "All the worst elements of the city will be out. No woman should be left alone in times of such danger. I should feel most uneasy at leaving you before your husband comes in."
His words were correct enough, but he managed to convey his opinion that he was only fulfilling what should have been Keith's first and manifest duty. She made no reply. The conversation languished and died. They sat in the lamplight opposite each other, occasionally exchanging a word or so. Sansome was content and enjoying himself. He conceived that the stars were fighting for him, and he was enjoying the hour. Nan, a prey alternately to almost uncontrollable fits of anxiety and flaming resentment, could hardly sit still.
About midnight Gringo pricked up his ears and barked sharply. A moment later Keith came in.
He was evidently dead tired and wholly preoccupied. He hung up his hat absently. Nan had sprung to her feet.
"Oh, how could you!" she cried, the pent exasperation in her voice.
"I've been so anxious! I didn't know what might have happened!"
"I'm all right," replied Keith briefly. "Sorry you were worried. No chance to send you word."
His apparent indifference added fuel to Nan's irritation.
"If it hadn't been for Ben, I should have been stark, staring crazy, here all alone!".
Keith for the first time appeared to notice Sansome's presence. He nodded at him wearily.