was at the back of all her protests, all her revolts. And her sense of fairness had many a clash with it.
She got through her window and began to pace the balcony. She stopped at times when a louder burst of laughter drifted up to her, or some strong voice was raised in a maudlin challenge. She was prepared to hear Dane’s voice above the noise again, but it did not rise to her. She tried to talk herself out of her mood of hesitancy and speculation. She tried to imagine what was going on down in those closed rooms. She would have liked to see how Mac managed his motley world on an occasion like this, to know who was being put out in those rooms off the yard, to know what he did to keep the constable out of the way, to know whether Doc Steele succumbed, whether Bob was drunk. It was a strange atmosphere, and apart from the servants she was the only woman in it. She was surprised to find that her thoughts had carried her out of her first unhappiness about Dane.
Feeling hungry she wondered if she could get unseen down to the kitchen. There was a fire-escape stair leading from the top hall outside down into the yard. The door was unlocked from the inside. She stole down the steps. She could hear men talking off somewhere in the shadows of the buildings, but the kitchen was empty when she looked in. There was plenty of food lying openly about, and she knew she could have what she wanted. She got bread and butter, and was cutting herself some cold chicken when Mac walked in followed by Dane.
“You see I’m stealing,” she said at once to Mac, hoping he would think her sudden flush was caused by the idea of being caught.
The big Irishman’s eyes were a little bloodshot, but he was the coolest man in the house. He got the full significance of the way in which Dane moved up to Valerie.
