"And you were about to marry his daughter!" said she, with a glance of raillery.
He reddened; anything that was past for him was so completely shut out and forgotten that, until she reminded him, the sentimental episode with Amy was as if it had not been. "Where did you hear that?" he asked, his guilty eyes lowering; for he felt she must have suspected why he had thought of marrying Amy.
"Everybody was talking about it when I came to New York."
He was silent for a moment. "Well," he finally continued, "she and I are not even friends." Into his eyes came the steely, ruthless look. "Within a week I'm going to destroy Josiah Fosdick." Then, in comment on her swiftly changing expression, "I see you don't like that."
"No," she replied bluntly.
"I'm going to do a public service," said he, absolutely unconscious of the real reason why his threat so jarred upon her. "I ought to have a vote of thanks."
She could not tell him that it was not his condemnation of Josiah but his merciless casting out of his friendship with Amy that revolted and angered and saddened her. If she did tell him, he, so self-absorbed and so bent upon his own inflexible purposes that he was quite blind to his own brutality, would merely think her jealous. Besides, she began to feel that her real ground for anger against him ought to be Josiah's fate, even if her femininity made the personal reason the stronger. She accordingly said, "You just got through telling me it was a system, and not any one man's fault."
Armstrong dismissed that with a shrug. "I'm in his way, he's in mine. One or the other has to go down. I'm seeing to it that it's not I." Then, angered by her expression, and by the sense of accusing himself in making what sounded like excuse, he cried, "Say it! You despise me!"
"It isn't a judgment," she answered; "it's a feeling."
"But you don't know what the man has done."