“But nothing that he had was touched——”
“He was protecting the girl——”
“Against whom?”
“It might have been blackmail—it might have been a maniac; it might have been anything, anything, anything but the thing that you think. If Derry were here he would strike you dead for what you believe of him. I wish that he were here to strike you dead.”
“I wish it, too. Believe me, life does not very greatly appeal to me at present.”
“Did you think that if you destroyed my faith in him I would fall weeping into your arms?” she asked smoothly. “Spare yourself the trouble. I would die before I touched you with a finger, now that I know what you think of him.”
“By God!” He towered suddenly above her. “That’s enough, I’m off. You’ll live yet to regret that, Anne.”
“No—no—no—don’t leave me—don’t, don’t.” She caught at his arm as though she were drowning—slipping, slipping deeper into icy water. For a moment he thought that she was going to die where she sat in the great chintz chair. “No, no; I’ll be good—I’ll be good. I didn’t mean it, truly, truly. Hold me, hold me—you loved him, too, didn’t you, Hal?”
“Yes, dear.”
“If he were here he’d tell us how it happened—you’d see. He said it was an awfully good joke on him, too good to keep. He’d tell us.”