looked at him. Slowly Cynthia took her arms from around Hugh’s neck and forced herself from his embrace. Norry disappeared into his room and came out a minute later with his coat on; he had just begun to undress when he had heard a noise in the study.
“I ’ll see you home, Cynthia,” he said quietly. He took her arm and led her out of the room—and [locked the door behind him. Hugh stared at them blankly, swaying slightly, completely befuddled. Cynthia went with Norry willingly enough, leaning heavily on his arm and occasionally sniffing.
When he returned to his room, Hugh was sitting on the floor staring at a photograph of Norry’s mother. He had been staring at it for ten minutes, holding it first at arm’s length and then drawing it closer and closer to him. No matter where he held it, he could not see what it was—and he was de¬ termined to see it.
Norry walked up to him and reached for the photograph.
“Give me that,” he said curtly. “Take your hands off my mother’s picture.”
“It’s not,” Hugh exclaimed angrily; “it’s not. It’s my musher, my own mu-musher—my, my own dear musher. Oh, oh!”
He slumped down in a heap and began to, sob bitterly, muttering, “Musher, musher, musher.
Norry was angry. The whole scene was revolt-*
