Mrs. Johnny Sommers managed to preserve her dignity while she escorted the visitor into the front room, and even while she asked him to sit down and wait, but once she had closed the door behind her she cast dignity far away and did two steps at a time going upstairs. The result was that she, reached the room of Betty Neal entirely¹ out of breath; two hundred pounds of fat, good-natured widowhood do not go with speed. She tossed open the door without any preliminary knock and stood there very red with a clearly defined circle of white in the center of each check. For a moment there was no sound except her panting and Betty Neal stared wildly at her from above her book.  
“He's come!” gasped² Mrs. Sommers.
 
“Who?”
 
“Him!”
 
As if this odd explanation made everything clear, Betty Neal sprang from her chair and she grew so pale that every freckle⁴ stood out.
 
“Him!” she echoed ungrammatically.
 
Then: “Where is he? Let me downstairs.”
 
But the widow closed the door swiftly behind her and leaned her comfortable bulk against it.
 
“You ain't goin',” she asserted. “You ain't goin', leastways not till you got time to think it over.”
 
“I haven't time to think. I—he—”
 
“That was the way with me,” nodded Mrs. Sommers, and her eyes were tragic⁵. “I went ahead and married Johnny in spite of everything, and look at me now—a widder! No, I ain't sorry for myself because I was a fool.”
 
“Mrs. Sommers,” said Betty, “will you please step out of my way?”
 
“Honey, for heaven's sake think a minute before you go down and face that man. He's dangerous. When I opened the door and seen him, I tell you the shivers went up my back.”
 
“Is he thin? Is he pale?” cried Betty Neal. “How did he get away? Did he escape? Did they parole him? Did they pardon him? Did he—”
 
“Let me get down!” she cried.
 
Mrs. Sommers flung away from the door.
 
“Then go and marry your man-killer!”
 
But Betty Neal was already clattering⁶ down the stairs. Half way to the bottom her strength and courage ebbed⁷ suddenly from her; she went on with short steps, and when at last she closed the parlor⁸ door behind her, she was staring as if she looked at a ghost.
 
Yet Vic Gregg was not greatly changed—a little thinner perhaps, and just now he certainly did not have his usual color. The moment she appeared he jumped to his feet as if he had heard a shot, and now he stood with his feet braced⁹ a little to meet a shock, one hand twitching¹⁰ and playing nervously¹¹ with the embroidered¹² cloth on the table. She did not speak; merely stood with her fingers still gripping the handle of the door as if she were ready to dart¹³ away at the first alarm. A wave of pain went over the face of Vic Gregg and remained looking at her out of his eyes, for all that his single-track, concentrated mind could perceive in her was the thing he took for fear.
 
“Miss Neal,” he said. His voice shook, straightened out again. He made her think of one of her big school boys who had forgotten his lesson and now stood cudgeling his memory and dreading¹⁴ that terrible nightmare of “staying after school.” She had a wild desire to laugh.
 
“Miss Neal, I ain't here to try to take up things that can't be took up ag'in.” Apparently¹⁵ he had prepared the speech carefully, and now he went on with more ease: “I'm leavin' these here parts for some place unknown. Before I go I jest want to say I know I was wrong from the beginnin'. All I want to say is that I was jest all sort of tied up in a knot inside and when I seen you with him—” He stopped. “I hope you marry some gent that's worth you, only they ain't any such. An'—I want to wish you good-luck, an' say good-by—”
 
He swept the perspiration¹⁶ from his forehead, and caught up his hat; he had been through the seventh circle of torture.
 
“Oh, Vic, dear!” cried a voice he had never heard before. Then a flurry of skirts, then arms about him, then tears and laughter, and eyes which went hungrily over his face.
 
“I been a houn'-dog. My God, Betty, you don't mean—”
 
“That I love you, Vic. I never knew what it was to love you before.”
 
“After I been a man-killin', lyin', sneakin'—”
 
“Don't you say another word. Vic, it was all my fault.”
 
“It wasn't. It was mine. But if you'd only kind of held off a little and gone easy with me.”
 
“You didn't give me a chance.”
 
“When I looked back from the road you wasn't standin' in the door.”
 
“I was. And you didn't look back.”
 
“I did.”
 
“Vic Gregg, are you trying to—”
 
But the anger fled from her as suddenly as it had come.
 
“I don't care. I'll take all the blame.”
 
“I don't want you to. I won't let you.&rd............