"Stephanie, tell me, do you love Derrick Beekman?"
"No, I hate him."
"And me?"
"I hate you, too."
"Oh, don't say that."
"I wish I were dead," cried the girl. "I can never go out on the street again. I can never hold up my head anywhere any more, and it's your fault. What have you done with him?"
"Do you want him back? Do you want to go through with the marriage? Look here," said Harnash, "desperate diseases require desperate remedies. I'll tell you this, and that is all I will tell you. I am sure Derrick is all right. He will come to no harm."
"Are you holding him a prisoner somewhere?"
"I am not."
"I don't understand."