lion bosses of his chair-arms. Beside him, on the little table, lay his still smoldering cigarette-end in the silver tray. …
Maggie suddenly sprang to her feet, slipped round the table, and caught him by the arm.
“Laurie, Laurie, wake up. … What’s the matter?”
A long shudder passed through him. He sat up, with a bewildered look.
“Eh? What is it?” he said. “Was I asleep?”
He rubbed his hands over his eyes and looked round.
“What is it, Maggie? Was I asleep?”
(Was the boy acting? Surely it was good acting!)
Maggie threw herself down on her knees by the chair.
“Laurie! Laurie! I beg you not to go to see Mr. Vincent. It’s bad for you. … I do wish you wouldn’t.”
He still blinked at her a moment.
“I don’t understand. What do you mean, Maggie?”
She stood up, ashamed of her impulsiveness.
“Only I wish you wouldn’t go and see that man. Laurie, please don’t.”
He stood up too, stretching. Every sign of nervousness seemed gone.
“Not see Mr. Vincent? Nonsense; of course I shall. You don’t understand, Maggie.”