She wondered if he was already tired of her, if he would rudely push her away as one would a prostitute. Upstairs, in the little dressing-room, the panel was opened by means of tugging a small candlesconce in the wall. Lucy was filled with happiness, it was her third Christmas at the Becks. Some man! And to conclude it all was the figure of her father in the doorway, giving her a last chance, his hat in one hand, his umbrella in the other, shaken at her to emphasize his point. What was the alternative to going home? No alternative appeared in that darkness. And then you go—and half throttle me. Hogarth," remarked Jack, dejectedly.
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