“What?” she cried, appalled.
“Because, you know”—she noticed that he glanced up and down the softly lit hall before he continued—“if it’s that, I give you my word there’s nothing in it—absolutely nothing! I’ve never even pretended to her—”
“Do you think I’m going to discuss that with you?” she said, looking at him with a sort of horror.
“There’s nothing to discuss,” he answered. “I wanted you to know that; but then—”
“Please let me pass!” she said. “I don’t want to—talk to you!”
He did not move. He stood squarely before her, with a queer, dogged, miserable look on his face.
“Not until you tell me why you—hate me,” he said.
She was silent for a moment, her heart filled with almost intolerable bitterness. Then suddenly she laughed.
“Oh, but you’d really better go!” she said. “You wouldn’t like it if some one should come and find you speaking to me!”
She regretted the words as soon as they were spoken. A singular change came over him.