For her it was sufficient to know that somebody wanted her, that never again would she be alone, that always this boy with the dreams would be depending upon her. Her fingers opened and the weapon fell from her nerveless grasp. He was always anticipating, stepping into the future, torturing himself with non-existent troubles. What in the world was the wench up to now? For it must be she. I feel years younger, a man again. There was only one idea in his head now—to batter and bruise and crush this weakling, then cast him at the feet of his love-lorn wife. “Will you come this way,” she said, “into the drawing-room? There is no one there just now. Keep a sharp look out, Austin, and see that we lose no one else. ‘Do not look at me so,’ he snapped.
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