“You ain't goin',” she asserted. “You ain't goin', leastways not till you got time to think it over.”
“I haven't time to think. I—he”
“That was the way with me,” nodded Mrs. Sommers, and her eyes were tragic. “I went ahead and married Johnny in spite of everything, and look at me now—a widder! No, I ain't sorry for myself because I was a fool.”
“Mrs. Sommers,” said Betty, “will you please step out of my way?”
“Honey, for heaven's sake think a minute before you go down and face that man. He's dangerous. When I opened the door and seen him, I tell you the shivers went up my back.”
“Is he thin? Is he pale?” cried Betty Neal. “How did he get away? Did he escape? Did they parole him? Did they pardon him? Did he”
“Let me get down!” she cried.
Mrs. Sommers flung away from the door.
“Then go and marry your man-killer!”
But Betty Neal was already clattering down the stairs. Half way to the bottom her strength and courage ebbed suddenly from her; she went on with short steps, and when at last she closed the parlor door behind her, she was staring as if she looked at a ghost.
Yet Vic Gregg was not greatly changed—a little thinner perhaps, and just now he certainly did not have his usual color. The moment she appeared he jumped to his feet as if he had heard a shot, and now he stood
