She turned away as if overcome, and with an unsteady hand poured some more whisky into her tumbler and raised it to her lips.
"I laughed because I found it difficult to believe you really loved me, Mr. Despard."
Stepping forward he seized her wrist and swung her round. He had just called her a bad actress, but she acted well enough now to deceive him.
"You knew I wanted you," he said huskily.
The colour ebbed and flowed from her face. "Oh, yes, I knew that, but——"
"I want you now," he whispered.
She pretended to try and drag her hand away. "Why have you only just said so?"
"Because I knew Dale still stood between us. Because you have done your best to avoid me, and have tried to set Rupert's father and Sir Reginald Crichton against me."
"Oh, can't you understand my feelings," she cried piteously. "I loved Rupert and I knew that he loved me, and I had injured him in trying to save him. It was my duty before everything else to clear his name.... And I was always a little afraid of you—perhaps because I knew you were Rupert's rival."
Despard drew in his breath sharply as he inhaled the perfume of her hair. She raised her eyes an instant, then lowered them. In every way she was the direct antithesis of Marjorie Dale. The latter was gentle, innocent.