"How dare you say that?" she cried. "How dare you? How dare you?"
She struck him afresh with each repetition, so stung to frenzy was she by that sneer. But when the sudden realization that he stood to endure her blows without the smallest attempt to check or avoid them came upon her, the spirit went out of her. She became passive again, trembling from head to foot, so that but for his upholding arms she must have fallen.
"Let me go!" she whispered voicelessly. "Let me go!"
He was still gazing at her, but his look had changed. His eyes still burned, but they no longer threatened. Rather she read in them a slow-gathering wonder, as of a man who has picked up some strange substance of which he does not know the value or properties.
He held her awhile longer, and then very gradually he let her go.
She drew away from him, her bosom heaving, her lips panting, and leaned upon the dressing-table for support. She had withstood him indeed, but it had cost her every inch of her strength.
She did not know how she endured his silence. It seemed to pierce every nerve, while he still stood observing her, as it were appraising her.
Then at length very slowly he spoke. "I take back what I said about Saltash. I see I was wrong."
He paused a moment. She had made a sharp gesture of surprise, but she spoke no word. He went on.
"I realize--now--that you do not know what love is. If you did, you wouldn't be so--ashamed. Maybe you never will know. It isn't given to all of us--not that sort. But let me tell you this! Your friendship--or whatever you call it--with Saltash must end. There must be no more letters--no more secret meetings. Saltash is not a white man. I believe in your own heart you know it. Trust him, and he will let you down,--sure."