"Well, I guess it's principally to see you!" he muttered, but his lips quivered with emotion.
She laughed.
"Just see how mistaken one may be, Andy; I thought all along it was Marsh!"
At her use of his Christian name his heavy face became radiant. His purposes were usually allied to an admirable directness of speech that never left one long in doubt as to his full meaning.
"Look here, aren't you about sick of Marsh?" he asked. "How long are you going to stand for this sort of thing? You have a right to expect something better than he has to offer you!"
She met the glance of his burning black eyes with undisturbed serenity, but a cruel smile had come again to the corners of her mouth. She was preparing to settle her score with Gilmore in a fashion he would not soon forget. One of her hands rested on the arm of her chair, and the gambler's ringed fingers closed about it; but apparently she was unaware of this; at least she did not seek to withdraw it.
"By God, you're pretty!" he cried.
"What do you mean?" she asked quietly.
"Mean,—don't you know that I love you? Have I got to make it plain that I care for you,—that you are everything to me?" he asked, bending toward her.
"So you care a great deal about me, do you, Andy?" she asked slowly.