Mischief bubbled up in her. But give me till to-morrow—only till to-morrow—I may be able to part with him then. He told me with a coarse nervous laugh. She always dawdled, so it was easy. Trodger was lying in wait at the bottom of the narrow stairs. He glanced at Ruth (who had stood with her back to the wall, pinned there throughout the contest by terror and the knowledge of her own helplessness), then at the bronze menace, and calculated correctly that this particular adventure was finished. O'Higgins eyed it thoughtfully. And then if some day Capes wanted her—saw fit to alter his views upon friendship.
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