Norman interrupted with an astonished look at Josephine. She colored, gazed at him imploringly. His face terrified her. When body and mind are in health and at rest the fullness of the face hides the character to a great extent. But when a human being is sick or very tired the concealing roundness goes and in the clearly marked features the true character is revealed. In Norman's face, haggard by his wearing emotions, his character stood forth—the traits of strength, of tenacity, of inevitable purpose. And Josephine saw and dreaded.
"But," Burroughs went on, "I have it on the best authority that it is true."
Norman, looking into the fascinating face of danger, was thrilled. "Then you wish to break off the engagement?" he said in the gentlest, smoothest tone.
Burroughs brought his fist down on the table—and Norman recognized the gesture of the bluffer. "I wish you to break off with that woman!" he cried. "I insist upon it—upon positive assurances from you."
"Fred!" pleaded Josephine. "Don't listen to him. Remember, I have said nothing."
He had long been looking for a justifying grievance against her. It now seemed to him that he had found it. "Why should you?" he said genially but with subtle irony, "since you are getting your father to speak for you."
There was just enough truth in this to entangle her and throw her into disorder. She had been afraid of the consequences of her father's interfering with a man so spirited as Norman, but at the same time she had longed to have some one put a check upon him. Norman's suave remark made her feel that he could see into her inmost soul—could see the anger, the jealousy, the doubt, the hatred-tinged love, the love-saturated hate seething and warring there.
Burroughs was saying: "If we had not committed ourselves so deeply, I should deal very differently with this matter."
"Why should that deter you?" said Norman—and Josephine gave a piteous gasp. "If this goes much farther, I assure you I shall not be deterred."