SHE SANK DOWN ON HER KNEES BESIDE HIM.
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"Yes—you must," she went on imploringly. "If I didn't tell him before I'll do it now. You must go. If you ever had any regard for me—if you ever had any affection—if you ever had any friendship, please let me do this now. I want you to go—you can come back. Then you'll see—you'll know—only I want to try to make him understand that—that maybe if I'm weak I'm not vicious. I want to let him know that I didn't want to do it, but I couldn't help it. Just give me the chance to be as good as I can be——"
Brockton turned and looked straight at her. She did not flinch under his severe, critical gaze. Impulsively, coaxingly, she went on:
"Oh, I promise you I will tell him, and then—then I don't care what happens—only he must learn everything from me—please—please, let me do this—it's the last favor I shall ever—ever ask of you. Won't you?"
This last appeal, uttered hysterically, was followed by a flood of weeping. She had controlled herself as long as she could, but at last her nerves could not stand the strain, and she broke down completely. Brockton rose, and for a moment stood watching, as if mentally debating himself what was the best thing to do. Finally, he said:
"All right; I won't be unkind. I'll be back early this afternoon, but remember—this time you'll have to go right through to the end." With a significant warning gesture, he added: "Understand?"
Drying her eyes, she said hastily:
"Yes, I'll do it—all of it Won't you please go—now?"
"All right," he replied.
The broker disappeared into the bedroom and almost immediately entered again with overcoat on his arm and hat in hand. He went towards the door without speaking. At the threshold he halted and, looking back at her, said firmly: