Alter a moment's hesitation he said grimly, "Millie, it's rough on a fellow when he must be his own executioner. There, take it. It's the heaviest load I ever carried in my life," and he threw the letter into her lap.
After a moment's glance she trembled violently, and became pale and red by turns, then buried her face in her hands.
"I knew it would be so," he said doggedly. "I knew what was the matter all along."
She sprang up, letting the letter drop on the floor, and clung to him. "Roger," she cried, "I won't read the letter. I won't touch it. No one shall come between us—no one has the right. Oh, it would be shameful after all—"
"Millie," he said almost sternly, replacing her in her chair, "the writer of that letter has the right to come between us—he is between us, and there is no use in disguising the truth. Come, Millie, I came here to play the man, and you must not make it too hard for me. Read your letter."
"I can't," she said, again burying her burning face in her hands, and giving way to a sudden passion of tears.
"No, not while I'm here, of course. And yet I'd like to know my fate, for the suspense is a little too much. I hope he's written to tell you that he has married the daughter of the Great Mogul, or some other rich nonentity," he added, trying to meet his disappointment with a faint attempt at humor; "but I'm a fool to hope anything. Good-by, and read your letter in peace. I ought to have left it and gone away at once, but, confound it! I couldn't. A drowning man will blindly catch at a straw."
She looked at him, and saw that his face was white with pain and fear.
"Roger," she said resolutely, "I'll burn that letter without opening it if you say so. I'll do anything you ask."
He paced the room excitedly with clenched hands for a few moments, but at last turned toward her and said quietly, "Will you do what I ask?"