“It’s me, Jimmie,” said the boy. “Pa sent me over with Elsie’s veil. She dropped it while she was out in the auto this afternoon.”
He heard the door close and then the accusing voice of his wife demanding:
“Elsie, who have you been out with, automobiling?”
“I was out this afternoon with Martin Druce,” replied the girl defiantly.
“Then,” went on the mother, conscious that a crisis of some sort between her and her daughter was approaching, “you were talking to him this evening and not to Harvey Spencer? You told me a falsehood?”
“What if I did?” Elsie’s tone was low and stubborn.
Mrs. Welcome began to sob.
“Mother, mother,” pleaded Patience, “Elsie didn’t mean—”
“I did mean it,” flared back Elsie. “I did mean it! Why shouldn’t I go autoing when I have the chance? Isn’t life in Millville hard enough without—” She paused overcome by a wave of passion. “I’m tired of Millville,” she exclaimed, “I’m tired of the factory. I’m tired of living here as we do in this miserable, tumble-down place we call home. I’m tired of working like a slave, while a drunken father—”
The words had scarcely left the girl’s lips when Tom Welcome, red-eyed, dishevelled, swaying, appeared in the doorway behind her. His face was lit with demoniac passion. He rushed at the girl and she screamed in terror. With a vicious lunge he struck her down and then, seizing her by the hair, dragged her into the bedroom where, amid her cries, he rained blow after blow upon her.