‘You have forgiven me so much, Diego. You have trusted me so much! I only ask you to trust me now—there is nothing to forgive!’
‘You may as well say at once that you have sent a cheque to that scoundrel,’ said Montalto angrily. ‘You have thrown it away. He still has the photographs, and as soon as he wants more money he will threaten us again. I warned you not to do that!’
Maria hoped desperately that if she remained silent he would continue in this belief. But the obstinacy of an over-conscientious person who has a ‘duty’ to perform is appalling.
‘Have you sent the money?’ he asked severely, as soon as he was sure that she did not mean to say anything in reply.
‘No.’
‘Then you are ashamed of what you have done. There is no other explanation of your silence, my dear. You yourself must see that.’
He said ‘my dear’ in a tone that exasperated her.
‘No,’ she cried vehemently, ‘I have done nothing to be ashamed of! You must find some other explanation of my silence, if you insist on having one!’
‘Your conduct is so extraordinary,’ Montalto replied, in an offended tone, ‘that I can only account for it in one way. Instead of trusting to me, you have allowed some one else to help you, and you are ashamed to tell me who the person is.’