Courtlaw rose to his feet. “This ain’t no place for you. Almost worthy of your own fertile imagination. “I missed the hour of your release,” he said, “but I was at the Vindicator Restaurant. “Only you are the woman I love, and you are in trouble. I'm used to insult as I am to misfortune, and am grown callous to both; but I'm not used to compassion, and know not how to take it. Both had dropped the rather elaborate politeness of the dining-room, and in their faces an impartial observer would have discovered little lines of obstinate wilfulness in common; a certain hardness—sharp, indeed, in the father and softly rounded in the daughter—but hardness nevertheless, that made every compromise a bargain and every charity a discount. “I hope,” said Miss Stanley, with dignity, and turned doorward with features in civil warfare. “Let me show you something. "Well, Sir?" cried the other, eagerly. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. The world had grown dark and wide, and she was very small. On beholding the intruders, his fears changed to exultation, and he uttered a roar of satisfaction as he glared at them, which could only be likened to the cry of some savage denizen of the plains.
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