"I don't think I can," she answered, with some embarrassment. "You see——"
He understood. Nodding and pointing to the money he had left on the table, he said:
"I know. I guess there's enough there for your immediate needs. Later you can straighten things up. Shall I send the car?"
"Yes, please."
He drew nearer and bent over her, as if about to caress her. Instinctively she shrank from his embrace. What at any other time would have appeared perfectly natural was now repugnant to her. It seemed indecent when the ink on her letter to John Madison was not yet dry.
"Please don't," she said. "Remember, we don't dine until seven-thirty."
"All right," he laughed, as he took his hat and cane and went out of the door.
For a few minutes after his departure Laura sat in meditative silence. There was no drawing back now. She had accepted this man's money. She must go on to the end, no matter where it led her. She had sold herself; henceforth she was this man's slave and chattel. Suddenly she was seized with a feeling of disgust. She loathed herself for her weakness, her lack of stamina, her cowardice. She did not deserve that a decent man should love or respect her. Angry at herself, angry with the world, she rose, and going to the dresser, got the alcohol lamp and placed it on the table. While she was lighting it there came a knock at the door.
"Come in," she called out.
Annie entered.