MRS. RADER HAS A WORD TO SAY
him face about. That door had been shut when he came into the room. Now Mrs. Rader was standing just within it, her hand resting on the knob. It had scarcely ceased to vibrate with concussion; her gown still fluttered back with her motion just arrested, but arrested by something that had startled her. In the gloom her face was a mere white shadow, with dark shadows for eyes; no expression to read, but the intense, fixed poise of the head had significance. Carron suffered pure panic. He kept himself standing where he was only by an effort of will. He was ready on the spot for all the condemnation woman, can call down on man's head, ready to commit himself to anything to rescue the unhappy situation. He looked at her and smiled.
"I have upset your daughter's work-basket," he said, and, going down on his knees, began to grope on the dark floor, gathering spools. Mrs. Rader did not speak; and in that horrid little interval while he pricked his fingers, and felt the coursing of the blood in his ears, what reason he had left reasserted itself. She had not seen the kiss—that unpremeditated moment. She had come in too late. She had seen, perhaps, her daughter's flight through the door, heard the crash of the basket, sensed all through the room the feeling of disturbance, of a crisis just past. But at least she had not seen it! His courage rose.
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