There was something panther-like in those restless footfalls, a
meaning velvetyness that made him shiver, and again he wished he
were dead--or elsewhere.
After a time the hall door opened, and someone came upstairs, along
the passage, and to the little woman's room. As he entered, she
turned and faced him.
"Christie," he said harshly, "do you know what you have done?"
"Yes," taking a step nearer him, her whole soul springing up into
her eyes, "I have angered you, Charlie, and--"
"Angered me? You have disgraced me; and, moreover, you have
disgraced yourself and both your parents."
"_Disgraced_?"
"Yes, _disgraced_; you have literally declared to the whole city
that your father and mother were never married, and that you are the
child of--what shall we call it--love? certainly not legality."
Across the hallway sat Joe McDonald, his blood freezing; but it
leapt into every vein like fire at the awful anguish in the little
voice that cried simply, "Oh! Charlie!"
"How could you do it, how could you do it, Christie, without shame
either for yourself or for me, let alone your parents?"
The voice was like an angry demon's--not a trace was there in it of
the yellow-haired, blue-eyed, laughing-lipped boy who had driven
away so gaily to the dance five hours before.
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