“My silent friend, here’s to thee, too,” she murmured. His cup she kissed twice, and presented it carefully so that the place she kissed was against his lips. “Drink. I have sweetened it.”

As Venner’s brows darkened, so did John Pearse conquer his first flush of self-contempt and put on a smile that irradiated his usually serious face. And Tomlin brightened, too, waiting in what patience he could muster for his turn, which must come next. To him Dolores turned, cup in hand, and rising at the same time gave him his wine with a brief: “Here, drink, too. I must leave thee a while.”

She forced the cup into Tomlin’s trembling fingers, gave him never a glance, but went out of the saloon on her errand.