“How did you know they were coming to my shop that night?”
“I can’t tell you.... I sha’n’t tell you.”
“You’re shielding him!”
“No, not him.”
“Do you love that man? Is that why you protect him?” Again the personal element was obtruding. Jealousy showed its face where there should have been only a calm desire to know the truth.
“I hate him! Oh, how I hate him!—more than anything else on earth!”
“But you are with him always ... daily. That doesn’t look like hate.... A girl doesn’t—” He stopped, could not say the thing, could not tell her to her face that a girl like her does not become the mistress of a man she hates.
“You don’t know.... You don’t understand. I can’t help myself. I have to be with him. I have to, I tell you. Can’t you believe me?”
“Why?” he said, briefly.
“I can’t tell you.”