She went back to leaning against the table, her arms folded as before. I saw she was thinking out something. Finally she said:
“I have decided not to accept your release.”
I sprang to my feet.
“Anita!” I cried, my arms stretched toward her.
But she only looked coldly at me, folded her arms the more tightly and said:
“Do not misunderstand me. The bargain is the same as before. If you want me on those terms, I must—give myself.”
“Why?” I asked.
A faint smile, with no mirth in it, drifted round the corners of her mouth.
“An impulse,” she said. “I don't quite understand it myself. An impulse from—from—” Her eyes and her thoughts were far away, and her expression was the one that made it hardest for me to believe she was a child of those parents of hers. “An impulse from a sense of justice—of decency. I am the cause of your trouble, and I daren't be a coward and a cheat.” She repeated the last words. “A coward—a cheat! We—I—have taken much from you, more than you know. It must be repaid. If you still wish, I will—will keep to my bargain.”
“It's true, I'd not have got into the mess,” said I, “if I'd been attending to business instead of dangling after you. But you're not responsible for that folly.”