It’s not far from twilight. “Couldn’t we three go out and have some coffee somewhere? The thought of that drawing-room paralyses me. It would be an ice storm by midnight if it did not let up. “Agreed,” he said with queer exaltation, and his grip tightened on her hand. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. But I shan't let him off thus. Her father intercepted her, and for a moment she and he struggled with their hands upon the latch.
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