Madison turned to Laura. Peremptorily he said:
"Now get that man out of here."
"John—I——" she protested cheerfully.
"Get him out!" he almost shouted. "Get him out before I lose my temper, or they'll—or they'll take him out without his help!"
The girl laid a supplicating hand on the broker's arm.
"Go—go! Please go!" she pleaded.
"All right," he replied. "If that's the way you want it, I'm willing."
He turned and went into the inner room to get his hat and coat, while John and Laura stood facing each other, without speaking. Brockton soon reëntered, and without a word moved in the direction of the door. The others remained motionless. As the broker put his hand on the door, Laura started forward. Turning to Madison, she pointed at the man who was leaving.
"Before he goes," she cried, "I want to tell you how I learned to despise him. John, I know you don't believe me, but it's true—it's true. I don't love anyone in the world but just you. I know you don't think that it can be explained—maybe there isn't any explanation. I couldn't help it. I was so poor, and I had to live. He wouldn't let me work. He's let me live only one way, and I was hungry. Do you know what that means? I was hungry and didn't have clothes to keep me warm, and I tried, oh, John! I tried so hard to do the other thing—the right thing—but I couldn't."
He listened in silence. There was no anger in his eyes, no menace in his attitude. He merely appeared dumbfounded, crushed; there was in his face a look of mute, helpless astonishment, as a child might look when it saw an edifice of sand carefully and lovingly erected, levelled to the ground by the first careless wave. Almost apologetically he said: