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Fyne told me she met the girl's eyes. There was
that in them which made her shut her own. She also felt as though she
would have liked to put her fingers in her ears. She restrained herself,
however; and the "plain man" passed in his appalling versatility from
sarcasm to veiled menace.
"You have--eh? Well and good. But before I go home let me ask you, my
girl, to think if by any chance you throwing us over like this won't be
rather bad for your father later on? Just think it over."
He looked at his victim with an air of cunning mystery. She jumped up so
suddenly that he started back. Mrs. Fyne rose too, and even the spell
was removed from her husband. But the girl dropped again into the chair
and turned her head to look at Mrs. Fyne. This time it was no accidental
meeting of fugitive glances. It was a deliberate communication. To my
question as to its nature Mrs. Fyne said she did not know. "Was it
appealing?" I suggested. "No," she said. "Was it frightened, angry,
crushed, resigned?" "No! No! Nothing of these." But it had frightened
her.


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