And Stephen stopped and called to Mr Bittenger. And
the drawing-room door was closed upon Vera.
She waited, solitary, for an incredible space of time, and then,
having heard unaccustomed and violent sounds in the distance, she
could contain herself no longer, and she rang the bell.
'Louisa,' she demanded of the parlourmaid, 'where is your master?'
'Oh, ma'am,' replied Louisa, giggling--a little licence was surely
permissible to the girl on Christmas night--'Oh, ma'am, there's
such a to-do! Tinsley has just brought some boxing-gloves, and
master and Mr Bittenger have got their coats off in the dining-
room. And they've had the table pushed up by the door, and you
never saw such a set-out in all your life ma'am.'
Vera dismissed Louisa.
There it was--the dream! They were going to box. Mr Bittenger was
doubtless an expert, and she knew that Stephen was not. A chance
blow by Mr Bittenger in some vital part, and Stephen would be
lying stretched in eternal stillness in the middle of the dining-
room floor where the table ought to be! The life of the monster
was at stake! The life of the brute was in her hands! The dream
was fulfilling itself to the point of tragedy!
She jumped up and rushed to the dining-room door. It would not
open. Again, the dream!
'You can't come in,' cried Stephen, laughing.
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