‘Dolt! Muttonheaded oaf! Why the deuce couldn’t he have sent you home?’ Valade cut in at that. He got off on it. Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play. The evenings were beginning to draw out, and it would not be dark for an hour. Some of the lunatics were rattling their chains; some shrieking; some singing; some beating with frantic violence against the doors. . “It isn’t fair. ” Again that curious smile which puzzled him so much parted her lips for a moment.
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