“I mean to go to that dance!” she blubbered. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. There sprang from that a vague hope that perhaps she might extort a capitulation from her father by a threat to seek that position, and then with overwhelming clearness it came to her that whatever happened she would never be able to tell her father about her debt. “But—your people!” she gasped. Awful shapes seemed to flit by, borne on the wings of the tempest, animating and directing its fury. After all, what could happen? He was looking at her very hard and earnestly. I keep my finger on the pulse of things. Anyhow, now you’ve begun it, there’s nothing to keep us in all this from being the best friends in the world. But now it was all over, and Alice was getting on well. .
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