of this district—rather than particularly for her, Charles Hale had come here.
Gregg sat back and straightened and, restlessly, he arose and strode down the hall, thinking. Not about Marjorie's father and Mrs. Russell; but about himself and Marjorie. For Gregg was no hypocrite and what he thought with himself was that if he married Marjorie, as to-night he had longed to in a way he had never desired anything else before, he would take her to some such neighborhood as this; some such life as that which went on about here would become hers and his. For he wanted her to live with him as his wife but he did not want to enter upon new duties and responsibilities with her; he meant to escape such things as far as possible to his wife and to himself.
"Good thing Bill's got you," Gregg muttered to himself. "Good thing you have old Bill. Oh, damn, damn."
He returned to the living room where Mrs. Russell, left alone, had become more frightened and was standing and staring absently about.
"They must have reached the hospital by this time!" she cried to Gregg.
"Yes; probably."
She started past him and he caught her wrist. "Don't telephone there; don't send any call from here to anywhere!"
For an instant she flared up, defying him: "You shall not tell me what I may do! I am going to know what is happening to him! He's mine! I—I love him, you—boy! Do you think that I"
"I don't think at all," Gregg stopped her calmly and firmly, "about you and him. That's not my affair.
