"It is the only one I have to offer you," Max said.
He also sounded stern; and in a flash she grasped her position. They were ranged against her—the two she loved best in the world—leagued together to keep from her the truth. A quiver of indignation went through her. She turned abruptly from them both.
"You needn't take this trouble any longer," she said. "I—know!"
"What do you know?" It was Max's voice, curt and imperative.
He took a step forward; his hand was on her shoulder. But she wheeled and flung it from her with an exclamation that was almost a cry of horror.
"Don't touch me!" she said.
He stood confronting her, hard, pitiless, insistent. Of her gesture he took no notice whatever. "What do you know?" he repeated.
She answered him with breathless rapidity, as if compelled. "I know that you made her love you—that when you knew the truth about her you gave her up. I know that you ruined her first—and deserted her afterwards for me. I know that you terrified her into secrecy, and then, when—when her brain gave way and there was no way of escape for you—I know that you—that you—that you—"
Her lips stiffened. She could not say the word. For several seconds she strove with it inarticulately; then suddenly, wildly, she flung out her hands, urging him from her.
"Oh, go! Go! Go!" she cried. "Let me never see you again!"