On
the other hand, go back to the old wandering life he would not. He
had had enough of that and its rotten carelessness and shabbiness.
What a girl this would be to settle down with somewhere! So strange
that she would be always interesting, so faithful that she would be
always there! Nor was he entirely selfish. Her childishness, her
ignorance, appealed to him for protection. She had no one but those
old aunts to care for her, she was poor and rebellious and ignorant.
Warlock was kind-hearted beyond the normal charity of man--much of
his weakness came from that very kindness.
As he saw which way he was going he tried to pull himself back. He
could not protect her--he had the best of reasons for knowing why.
He could do her nothing but harm . . . and yet he went on.
He took a chair close to her and sat down. He, who had known in his
time many women, could see how happy she was. That happiness excited
him. Suddenly he held her hand. She did not remove it.
"Look here," he began, and he was surprised at the hoarseness of his
voice, "your uncle will be back in a moment, and we never have a
chance of being alone.
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