He came and stood in front of her, and she saw that his face was grim. "What is the matter?" he said. "Surely you don't object to a serpent like that getting his deserts for once!"
She met his look with an effort. "Oh, it's not that—not that!" she said.
"What then? You object to me being the executioner?" He spoke curtly, through lips that had a faintly cynical twist.
She could not answer him; only after a moment she sat up, holding to the arms of the chair. "Forgive me for being foolish!" she said. "I—you gave me—rather a fright, you know. I've never seen you—like that before. I felt—it was a horrible feeling—as if you were a stranger. But—of course—you are you—just the same. You are—really—you."
She faltered over the words, his look was so stern, so forbidding. She seemed to be trying to convince herself against her own judgment.
His eyes met hers relentlessly. "Yes, I am myself—and no one else," he said. "I fancy you have never quite realized me before. Possibly you have deliberately blinded yourself. But you know me now, and it is as well that you should. It is the only way to an ultimate understanding."
She blenched a little in spite of herself. "And you—and you—once—thrashed—Guy," she said, her voice very low, sunk almost to a whisper. "Was it—was it—was it like—that?"
He turned sharply away as if there were something intolerable in the question. He went to the window and stood there in silence. And very oddly at that moment the memory of Kelly's assurance went through her that he had been fond of Guy. She did not believe it, yet just for the moment it influenced her. It gave her strength. She got up, and went to his side.
"Burke," she said tremulously, "promise me—please promise me—that you will never do that again!"
He gave her a brief, piercing glance. "If he keeps out of my way,
I shan't run after him," he said.