She had finally pushed him from her, and they stood apart under the lamp. For a moment, they stared. Then it seemed as if he studied her, as one who suddenly revalues, doubles the value of an object. It was the queerest, intensest scrutiny, his head cocked to one side, the light and laughter returning to his eyes and lips.
“I knew I wasn’t safe to come here,” he said. “I knew if you did like the story, I wasn’t safe to hear the verdict. It was the idea of getting enough money to escape from that room, to get back into Cleveland and find myself——”
Still she stared at him.
“I don’t suppose you can ever forgive me, but it broke me wide open, Miss Musser—to find what a ripping sport you are!”
“That’s about enough words,” she said.
He looked down.
“To-morrow,” she went on in a dreary tone, “you may come here—I mean to the basement entrance, at seven in the evening, and I’ll tell you Mr. Higgins’ decision. If it’s against the story, I’ll do as I said about your room rent and the fare to Cleveland.”
His hands went out to her.
“After what I did—you still want to do that?”
“Yes, and now please go.”