He swore
she should cool, and thus set her on fire.
Edith planned neatly. She fought hard, every other evening, with
her father, and kept her bed betweentimes to let him see what his
violence had done to her. Then, when the mere sight of her set him
to breathing fast, she said pitiably that she might bear her trouble
better if she went away; it was impossible to be in the same town with
Lamhorn and not think always of him. Perhaps in New York she might
forget a little. She had written to a school friend, established
quietly with an aunt in apartments--and a month or so of theaters
and restaurants might bring peace. Sheridan shouted with relief;
he gave her a copious cheque, and she left upon a Monday morning
wearing violets with her mourning and having kissed everybody good-by
except Sibyl and Bibbs. She might have kissed Bibbs, but he failed to
realize that the day of her departure had arrived, and was surprised,
on returning from his zinc-eater, that evening, to find her gone.
"I suppose they'll be maried there," he said, casually.
Sheridan, seated, warming his stockinged feet at the fire, jumped up,
fuming. "Either you go out o' here, or I will, Bibbs!" he snorted.
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