"But you mean no harm? You told me a falsehood"—here he blinked, but she went on, her eyes devouring his—"but you told it in kindness? Say you mean no harm to me—you will get this licence soon. How soon? Do not be angry—ah, see how I humble myself to you! You mean honestly: yes, yes, but say it! how soon?"
"Hetty, I'll be honest with you. One cannot get a licence in a day."
"And I will be patient—so patient! Only we must leave this horrible house: you must find me a lodging where I can be alone."
"Why, what's the matter with this house?" He tried a laugh, and the result betrayed him.
Her body stiffened again. "When did you apply for the licence?" she demanded. "How long since?"
He tried to shuffle. "But answer me!" she insisted, thrusting him away. And then, after a pause and very slowly, "You have not applied at all," she said. "You are lying again. . . . God forgive you." She drew herself up and for an instant he thought she was going to strike him; but she only shivered. "I must go home."
"Home!" he echoed.
"And whither but home?"—with a loathing look around her.
"You will not dare."
In all this pitiful scene was nothing so pitiful as the pride in which she drew herself up and towered over the man who had abased her. Yet her voice was quiet. "That you cannot understand is worst of all. I feared sin too little: but I can face the consequences. I fear them less than—than—"