"I don't know anything about him."

"No; and you don't want to! If there's one person in this world I hate,
it's Mac Clarke."

"Same here," said Dan, drawn to her by the attraction of a common
antipathy.

"Thinks he can do what he pleases," went on Birdie, bitterly, "with his
good looks and easy ways. He'll have a lot to answer for!"

Dan sat with his fists locked, staring at the floor. A dozen questions
burned on his lips, but he could not bring himself to ask them.

A fierce gust of wind rattled the window, and Birdie cried out in terror.

"You stop being afraid and go to sleep," urged Dan, but she shook her
head.

"I don't dare to! You'd go away, and I'd wake up and go crazy with fear.
I always was like that even when I was a kid, back home. I used to pretty
near die of nights when pa would come in drunk and get to breaking up
things. There was a man like that down where I been staying. He'd fall
against my door 'most every night. Sometimes I'd meet him out in the
street, and he'd follow me for squares."

Dan drew the blanket about her shoulders.

"Go to sleep," he said. "I won't leave you."