“And now,” she declared, in a suddenly altered tone, “this is all over and done with. Now you know everything. There are no more mysteries,” she added, smiling at him delightfully. “It is all very terrible, of course, but I feel as though a great weight had passed away. You and I are going to be friends, are we not?”
She rose slowly to her feet and came towards him. His eyes watched her slow, graceful movements as though fascinated. He remembered on that first visit of his how wonderful he had thought her walk. She was still smiling up at him; her fingers fell upon his shoulders.
“You are such a strange person,” she murmured. “You aren't a little bit like any of the men I've ever known, any of the men I have ever cared to have as friends. There is something about you altogether different. I suppose that is why I rather like you. Are you glad?”
For a single wild moment Tavernake hesitated. She was so close to him that her hair touched his forehead, the breath from her upturned lips fell upon his cheeks. Her blue eyes were half pleading, half inviting.
“You are going to be my very dear friend, are you not—Leonard?” she whispered. “I do feel that I need some one strong like you to help me through these days.”
Tavernake suddenly seized the hands that were upon his shoulders, and forced them back. She felt herself gripped as though by a vice, and a sudden terror seized her. He lifted her up and she caught a glimpse of his wild, set face. Then the breath came through his teeth. He shook all over but the fit had passed. He simply thrust her away from him.
“No,” he said, “we cannot be friends! You are a woman without a heart, you are a murderess!”
He tore her cheque calmly in pieces and flung them scornfully away. She stood looking at him, breathing quickly, white to the lips though the murder had gone from his eyes.
“Beatrice warned me,” he went on; “Pritchard warned me. Some things I saw for myself, but I suppose I was mad. Now I know!”
He turned away. Her eyes followed him wonderingly.