Sheila’s lassitude was startled by his word into a faint, unwilling smile.

“Don’t laugh at me!” he cried out.

“Oh, Dickie, my dear, I’m not laughing.  I’m so tired I can hardly stand.  And truly you must go now.  I’m horrid to you.  I always am.  And yet I do like you so much.  And you are such a dear.  And I feel there’s something great about you.  I should be glad for you to leave Millings.  There is a much better chance for you away from Millings.  I feel years old to-day.  I think I’ve grown up too old all at once and missed lovely things that I ought to have had.  Dickie”—­she gave a dry sort of sob—­“you are one of the lovely things.”

His arms drew gently round her.  “Let me kiss you, Sheila,” he pleaded with tremulous lips.  “I want just to kiss you once for good-bye.  I’ll be so careful.  If you knowed how I feel, you’d let me.”

She lifted up her mouth like an obedient child.  Then, back of Dickie, she saw Sylvester’s face.

It was more sallow than usual; its upper lip was drawn away from the teeth and deeply wrinkled; the eyes, half-closed, were very soft; they looked as though there was a veil across their pensiveness.  He caught Dickie’s elbow in his hand, twisted him about, thrusting a knee into his back, and with his other long, bony hand he struck him brutally across the face.  The emerald on his finger caught the light of the rising sun and flashed like a little stream of green fire.

Dickie, caught unawares by superior strength, was utterly defenseless.  He writhed and struggled vainly, gasping under the blows.  Sylvester forced him across the room, still inflicting punishment.  His hand made a great cracking sound at every slap.

Sheila hid her face from the dreadful sight.  “Oh, don’t, don’t, don’t!” she wailed again and again.

Then it was over.  Dickie was flung out; the door was locked against him and Sylvester came back across the floor.

His collar stood up in a half-moon back of his ears, his hair fell across his forehead, his face was flushed, his lip bled.  He had either bitten it himself or Dickie had struck it.  But he seemed quite calm, only a little breathless.  He was neither snarling nor smiling now.  He took Sheila very gently by the wrists, drawing her hands down from her face, and he put her arms at their full length behind her, holding them there.

“You meet Dickie here when you’re through work, dream-girl,” he said gently.  “You kiss Dickie when you leave my Aura, you little beacon light.  I’ve kept my hands off you and my lips off you and my mind off you, because I thought you were too fine and good for anything but my ideal.  And all this while you’ve been sneaking up here to Dickie and Jim and Lord knows who else besides.  Now, I am agoin’ to kiss you and then you gotta get out of Millings.  Do you hear?  After I’ve kissed you, you ain’t good enough for my purpose—­not for mine.”