"Put it on the table. Please."
"That isn't the same thing. I want you to take it. I want to put it into your own hand, as you put it into mine."
She remembered that she had put it into his hand by closing his fingers forcibly upon it, and hastened to prevent anything of that kind now. She took it unwillingly, holding it in both hands as if it were a casket.
"That's done," he said, with satisfaction. "You can't imagine what a relief it is to have it off my mind."
"I'm sorry you should have felt about it like that."
"You would have felt like that yourself, if you were a man owing money to a woman—and especially a woman who was your—enemy."
"Oh!" She cowered, as if he had threatened her.
"I repeat the word," he laughed, uneasily. "Any one is my enemy who comes between me and Evie. You'll forgive me if I seem brutal—"
"Yes, I'll forgive you. I'll even accept the word." She was pale and nervous, with the kind of nervousness that kept her smiling and still, but sent the queer, lambent flashes into her eyes. "Let us say it. I'm your enemy, and you pay me the money so as to feel free to strike me as hard as you can."
He kept to his laugh, but there was a forced ring in it.