“Sit down, dear. Never stand when you can sit. I want to get a good look at Barney’s wife. Well, well, I like your face. No beauty — you don’t mind my saying that — you’ve sense enough to know it, I reckon. Sit down.”

Valancy sat down. To be obliged to sit still when mental agony urges us to stride up and down is the refinement of torture. Every nerve in her being was crying out to be alone — to be hidden. But she had to sit and listen to Dr. Redfern, who didn’t mind talking at all.

“When do you think Bernie will be back?”

“I don’t know — not before night probably.”

“Where did he go?”

“I don’t