"George here was anxious."
"Look yourself," George answered. "I'm no dime museum fiend."
Suddenly Garth arose.
"Maybe the lady—" he croaked. "She's so set on it. A pleasant sight for ladies."
Nora flushed angrily.
"I'll call that bluff."
She waved the others back towards the end of the room.
"And be quick about it," she said to Garth.
Garth caught the expressions of the others. He noticed their ready hands. While his fingers rose to the fastenings of the gray mask he turned slowly and faced Nora.
For a moment he hesitated. Even after all he had seen he shrank from forcing on the girl the responsibility of tossing him to those waiting hands. He was tempted to spare her that, to confess himself to the others. But the stamping of her foot, the tone of her voice, impatient, commanding, decided him.
"Hurry, I say! There's no way out."
So, holding her with his eyes, he slipped the gray mask aside.
He saw her stare while the angry color left her cheeks. But at first her expression did not alter. It seemed to him a long time before terror twisted her face, before she screamed. He watched her cower back, crossing her arms over her eyes; watched her fall against the wall, where she bent, trembling.
