His hands upon the counter, Warburton stared at the door by which first Rosamund, then Bertha Cross, had disappeared.

His nerves were a-tremble; his eyes were hot.

Of a sudden he felt himself shaken with irresistible mirth; from the diaphragm it mounted to his throat, and only by a great effort did he save himself from exploding in laughter.
The orgasm possessed him for several minutes.

It was followed by a sense of light-heartedness, which set him walking about, rubbing his hands together, and humming tunes.
At last the burden had fallen from him; the foolish secret was blown abroad; once more he could look the world in the face, bidding it think of him what it would.
They were talking now--the two girls, discussing their strange discovery.

When he saw Rosamund this evening--of course he would see her, as she had promised--her surprise would already have lost its poignancy; he had but to tell the story of his disaster, of his struggles, and then to announce the coming moment of rescue.