A faint frown drew her forehead. “But you paid for them,” she said.
“I know. That was part of my damned scheme to get you into my power. You were always so independent. I thought when once you realized that you had been living on my money, it would break your spirit.”
“How—odd!” she said.
And that was all. No word of reproach or condemnation; yet the man winced as if he had been struck in the face.
“My God!” he said. “If you would only curse me! Any other woman would.”
“But why?” she said. “The fault was mine. I always knew—in my heart—that you were—that sort of man.”
“My God!” he said again. “You haven’t much mercy.”
She looked up at him. “I am sorry for you,” she said. “But—I don’t blame you. You were made that way.”
He struck his fist into his hand. “Frances, I swear to you—I swear to you—No, what’s the good of swearing? I’ll show you. Look here! We won’t talk any more to-night. We’re both dead beat. I’ll take you back to your hotel. And in a day or two—if you will trust me—I’ll show you that I am not—that sort of man. Will you trust me, Frances? Give me this one chance of making good? I’m a blackguard, I own it; but I can play the game if I try. Will you trust me?”
There was a hint of desperation in his voice, and, because she was a woman, that reached her where mere protestations had failed.