“There are two doors. He can’t watch them both.” “Only yuh can’t tell which. An’ after what yuh done ter him--Oh, you don’ know Bud like I do.” “I know he’s killing mad,” admitted Allston. And yet, had it not been for Roxie, he would have taken his chance and made a dash for it. Once through the door it would be a fair fight. It maddened him--even as it had maddened Bud--to be held in check like this. He began to pace the room--keeping out of range of the glow from the dying fire. Then a new thought flashed into his mind. If what this girl had told him was true--if she were really in love with Bud--then there would be no harm in leaving her here. She was standing in the shadows over by the table. He strode to her side and she crowded close to him. She acted afraid, and that under the circumstances was not natural. She ought to be glad that her lover had escaped. And it made his own course obvious and simple. If he went out, Bud would come in and this would end the whole affair. A moment ago Roxie had refused absolutely to return with him. If that was her position before Bud escaped, it was still her position. Had he gone away and left her to free Bud--and he had seen no alternative--she would have been exactly where she would be if he went now. Bud had only forced by a few minutes the inevitable. With only himself to consider, then, Allston did not propose to spend the rest of the night up here. It was both humiliating and unnecessary. It might easily turn out to be something worse. If he were not back at the Howe bungalow by morning, the house would be in a turmoil. With Roxie gone, too, his absence might be misinterpreted. Here was a fair argument, and yet he was not altogether convinced that it would hold. It did not explain fully Roxie’s present attitude. Well, then his suggestion might force that explanation. “Roxie,” he said quietly, “a moment ago you told me you came here because you wished to come.” “Yes, sir,” she admitted with a start. “You said you were going to stay.” “Yes, sir, I ’lowed I was goin’ ter stay with Bud.” “Did you mean that?” Her senses were acute. She felt he was leading her into some sort of trap. She did not answer. Frantically she tried to guess the meaning of it. “Were you telling the truth?” he demanded. “Yes, sir,” she answered because she was forced to answer. “It’s hard to believe--somehow,” he said. “And yet I don’t know why it should be. In time you were bound to marry, if not with Bud--then with some other Bud. Perhaps I’ve been thinking of you as younger than you are.” “I’m eighteen,” she replied as a statement of fact. “And that’s young or old according as you’ve lived. I saw men of eighteen in France who were fifty.” “Yes, sir.” “There are moments when you seem older than that and moments when you seem younger. That’s the trouble. What are you now?” “I’m eighteen.” “And you’re sure you know your own mind?” “’Bout how I come to come up hyar with Bud?” she asked suspiciously.