Tilly was seated beside the fire in the kitchen, her head in her hands. She started up when he entered.

“Why haven't you gone to bed?” he said.

“I thought I'd better stop an' lock up an' do,” she said. Her agitation quietened him. He gave her some little order, then returned, steadied now, almost ashamed, to his wife. She stood a moment watching him, as he moved with averted face. Then she said:

“You will be good to me, won't you?”

She was small and girlish and terrible, with a queer, wide look in her eyes. His heart leaped in him, in anguish of love and desire, he went blindly to her and took her in his arMs.

“I want to,” he said as he