He stopped and turned then. She expected him to come back on to the lawn; but he stood still, and she had to go up the path to him.
She lifted her face, that some men, but not he, would have called beautiful, to his, and smiled.
"It needn't happen, you know," she said.
He did not understand in the least, and looked his puzzlement—and his disgust of her. She dropped her eyes, and her seductive manner at the same time. "Come and sit down again," she said, "and let us talk sensibly. I have worked off my anger. Now let us see what can be done."
A slight gleam of hope came to him. Perhaps—now Susan was dead—she would see ... she could gain nothing....
He followed her to the seat obediently, and sat down.
"I have told you what I think of you," she said, speaking now coolly and evenly. "I had to do that to clear my mind. You have treated me with the meanest cruelty, and I mean every word I have said to you. I have suffered bitterly, and perhaps I have succeeded in showing you that I have it in my power to make you suffer in the same way. Revenge is very sweet, and I have tasted a little of it. But, after all, it can't do away with the past; and its savour soon goes. I shan't gain much by punishing you, though you ought to be punished."
"No," he said eagerly. "You can gain nothing. And look at the terrible—awful suffering you would bring upon those who are innocent of any offence against you."
"Quite so," she said coolly. "I am glad you realise that. I meant you to."
"It would be inhuman," he went on. "You would never be forgiven for it—in this world or the next."