"Your note used to be different," he said, with a meaning glance.
"Enough? What do you mean?"
"I saw it." She looked at him steadily, with unflinching eyes. "I saw him!"
"You did?"
"I did."
"You! What possessed you?"
"I hardly know. I could not help it. I had a fancy that I must."
"You with fancies, you with whims and caprices!" He laughed a laugh of fierce mockery, strode across the room, took her slender wrist in his hand and felt the pulse. "Ah, you are ill, your nerves are out of order, or"—in a different tone—"you suffer from a lapse of memory, perhaps!"
"What do you mean?"—wrestling herself free, and drawing her level brows together in a sudden threatening frown.
He went on as though he had not heard her:
"I hoped that your one relapse would be your last, and pleaded for you, thinking so. It was no easy matter to win you—even you—absolution."