I got him to do this." McEwen stared at the miniature--the sweet-faced Scotch woman, the bunch of children.

Then with a brusque movement he turned his face to the wall, and closed his eyes.
Anderson's lips opened once or twice as though to speak.

Some imperious emotion seemed to be trying to force its way.

But he could not find words; and at last he returned the miniature to his pocket, walked quietly to the door, and went out of the room.
The sound of the closing door brought immense relief to McEwen.

He turned again in bed, and relit his pipe, shaking off the impression left by the miniature as quickly as possible.