"For him?"
"Why not? He is a good man in his way, and he has been kind. Don't look at me like that!" she cried with sudden passion, a swift rush of blood tinting the pallor of her cheeks. "What do you think he is to me, this man, but the tool I have made him? He has not harmed me—he represents nothing that has harmed me; and I would not hurt him, as I would not hurt a child."
"Ah, that is all?" He looked at her keenly. "Good—and yet last night——"
"Well," she said defiantly, "last night I saved him. What then? He could do us no harm—he had done us good, and our use for him was nearly over—I may say now that it is over."
"Unless we fail."
"Fail!" she echoed contemptuously.
"What did you say to him?" he asked after a moment's pause.
"Nothing. What should I say? I rushed away. What does it matter? I shall not see him again."
"True." He glanced at the clock. "Eight," he said, turning toward the door, as though to close the conversation by leaving the room. "You will not forget the time?"
"I shall not."