“I did it voluntarily,” she said, “and I must fulfil my agreement.”
His face reddened with quick anger.
“Then you will go peacefully away with this person—man or woman—and stay five years, when the matter might easily be arranged by paying back the money, and by proving a prior claim. My claim is prior, Barbara. I loved you five years ago. I love you now. Give me the right to break this absurd bond. Won’t you, Barbara?”
His lips, his eyes, pleaded with his eloquent voice. He dropped to his knees beside her chair; his arm stole about her waist.
“Barbara!” he murmured, his face close to hers.
She broke from him with a little shuddering cry.
“What is it? What have I done?”
“Do you know—did you hear how my father—died?” she asked, in a frightened voice.
He sprang to his feet, his face crimson with shame and fury.
“I drank a glass of wine before I came here to-night—a single glass,” he said. “Is it that you mean?”