She put up her arms and lifted her face to him. Farrell shivered; the invitation repelled him; in the moment of that innocent welcome the horror of his sin rose foul before him. He touched her lightly on the cheek and withdrew a little distance.
"I'm not a nice object, Letty," he faltered; "see what a mess the beastly mud has made of me. And look at my fine dress-clothes." He laughed with constraint. "You'd think I lived in them."
"Oh, dearest, I was so disappointed," said the girl; "I sat up ever so late for you. But I was so tired. I'm always tired now. And at last I yawned myself to sleep. Where ever have you been?"
The colour flickered in Farrell s face, and his fingers trembled on the table.
"Oh, I couldn't get away from Fowler's, you know. Went there after the club, and lost my train like a fool."
His uneasy eyes rose furtively to her face. He was invested with morbid suspicions, suspicions of her suspicion; but the girl's gaze rested frankly upon him, and she smiled pleasantly. "That dreadful club! You shan't go there again for a week, darling. I'm so glad you've come. I was nearly being very frightened about you. I've been so lonely." She took him by the arm. "Poor dear, and you had to come all through London with those things on. Didn't people stare?"
"I will change them," he said abruptly, and turned to leave.
"What!" she said archly, "Would you go without—and I haven't seen you for so long." She threw her arms about his neck.
"For God's sake—No, no, Letty, don't touch me," he broke out harshly.
The girl's lips parted, and a look of pain started into her face.
"I mean," he explained quickly, "I am so very dirty, dear. You'd soil your pretty frock."
