"Larry--where have you been all this while?"
He was now conscious enough to note that there was tense concern in
her manner. He exulted at it, and crossed and took her hand.
"Right here in New York, Maggie."
"In hiding?"
"In mighty good hiding."
"But, Larry--don't you know it's dangerous for you to come out? And to
come here of all places?"
"I couldn't help myself. I simply had to see you, Maggie."
He was still holding her hand, and there was an instinctive grip of
her fingers about his. For a moment--the moment during which her
outer or more conscious self was startled into forgetfulness--they
gazed at each other silently and steadily, eye into eye.
And then the things the Duchess had said crept back into his mind, and
he said:
"Maggie, I've come to take you out of all this. Get ready--let's leave
at once."
That broke the spell. She jerked away from him, and instantly she was
the old Maggie: the Maggie who had jeered at him and defied him the
night of his return from prison when he had announced his new plan--
the Maggie who had flaunted him as "stool" and "squealer" the evening
she had left the Duchess's to enter upon this new career.
"No, you're not going to take me out of this!" she flung at him. "I
told you once before that I wasn't going your way! I told you that I
was going my own way! That held for then, and it holds for now, and it
will hold for always!"
The softer mood which had come upon him by surprise at sight of her
and filled him, now gave way to grim determination.
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