The new note was one of the eternal scale between man and woman. It was the note of unbridled reproach.
"Never in so many words, I think," said Rigden, unfortunately.
"In so many words!" echoed Moya, but the sneer was her last. "I hate such contemptible distinctions!" she cried out honestly. "Better have cheated me wholesale, as you did the police; there was something thorough about that."
"And I hope that you can now see some excuse for it," rejoined Rigden with more point.
"For that, yes!" cried Moya at once. "Oh, dear, yes, no one can blame you for screening your poor father. I forgive you for cheating the police—it would have been unnatural not to—but I never, never shall forgive you for what was unnatural—cheating me."
Rigden took a sharper tone.
"You are too fond of that word," said he, "and I object to it as between me and you."
"You have earned it, though!"
"I deny it. I simply held my tongue about a tragedy in my own family which you could gain nothing by knowing. There was no cheating in that."
"I disagree with you!" said Moya very hotly, but he went on as though she had not spoken.