“I should carry a revolver,” she said. “I’m sure he’s dangerous.”
“I might blow my fingers off,” he said.
“No; but won’t you?” she pleaded.
“No.”
“Not anything?”
“No.”
“And you’ll leave him to——?”
“Yes.”
“You are a fool!”
“Fact!”
She set her teeth with anger.
“I could shake you!” she cried, trembling with passion.
“Why?”
“Let a man like him do as he likes with you.”
“You can go back to him if he triumphs,” he said.
“Do you want me to hate you?” she asked.
“Well, I only tell you,” he said.
“And you say you love me!” she exclaimed, low and indignant.
“Ought I to slay him to please you?” he said. “But if I did, see what a hold he’d have over me.”
“Do you think I’m a fool!” she exclaimed.
“Not at all. But you don’t understand me, my dear.”
There was a pause between them.
“But you ought not to expose yourself,” she pleaded.
He shrugged his shoulders.
“ ‘The man in righteousness arrayed,
The pure and blameless liver,
Needs not the keen Toledo blade,
Nor venom-freighted quiver,’ ”
he quoted.
She looked at him searchingly.
“I wish I could understand you,” she said.
“There’s simply nothing to understand,” he laughed.
She bowed her head, brooding.
He did not see Dawes for several days; then one morning as he ran upstairs from the spiral room he almost collided with the burly metal-worker.
“What the ——!” cried the smith.
“Sorry!” said Paul, and passed on.
“Sorry!” sneered Dawes.
Paul whistled lightly, “Put Me among the Girls.”
“I’ll stop your whistle, my jockey!” he said.
The other took no notice.
