"
Then she saw more clearly. She asked: "What has happened?" and stood
with quivering lip recording the flutters of her heart.
George took one hand; patted it between both his. For the moment his
boiling anger cooled beneath grim relish of his news. "I've pretty
well killed that Chater swine," he said.
"Mr. Chater?--you've met Mr. Chater?"
Now emotion boiled again in her turbulent George. He said: "I saw you
run from him. I saw--what had he been doing?"
"Oh, Georgie!"
"Well, never mind. I'd rather not hear. I've paid him for it, whatever
it was."
"You fought? Oh, and your face--and your hand bleeding too!"
Tears stood in this ridiculous Mary's eyes. Women so often cry at the
wrong moment. They should more closely study their men in the
tremendous mannish crises that come to some of us. This was no moment
for tears; it was an hour to be Amazon. To be hard-eyed. To count the
scalps brought home by the brave--in delight to squeal over them; in
pride to clap the hands and jump for joy at such big behaviour.
My Mary erred in every way. Her moistening eyes annoyed George.
"Oh, don't make a fuss about that, Mary," he cried irritably. "It's
nothing. Master Bob won't be able to see for a month."
"Oh, George, why did you do it?"
Then the tremendous young man flamed.
Pages:
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187