"Cynthia, now you understand," he said. "You know why I acted as I did. You realize my position. I was in a horrible fix—"
She looked at him coldly.
"Yes," she said, "I do understand. You were gambling on me. You came down here to defend your employer's cash. Well, you have succeeded. Is there anything more to be said?"
"Isn't there? On the ramparts of the old fort the other night—"
"Please do not make yourself any more ridiculous than is necessary. You have put your employer's money above my happiness. Always. Really, you looked rather cheap to-day, with your sanctimonious advice that I marry Harrowby. Aren't you beginning to realize your own position—the silly childish figure you cut?"
"Then you—"
"Last night when you came staggering across the lawn to me with this foolish gown in your arms—I told you I hated you. Do you imagine I hate you any less now. Well, I don't." Her voice became tearful. "I hate you! I hate you!"
"But some day—"
She turned away from him, for she was sobbing outright now.
"I never want to see you again as long as I live," she cried. "Never! Never! Never!"