"I know it."
"Does your—does the young man know it?"
"Yes; otherwise he would not have spoken."
"No?" There was the mildest suggestion of incredulity in the upward inflection. "Since you have made your decision, it is as well you should think so. You are quite willing to begin at the bottom with him, are you?"
"I am."
"Because I meant what I said last night. You have made your bed, and you will have to lie on it; you will get nothing from me."
"We ask nothing but—but your good will." Gertrude was as undemonstrative as the daughter of Francis Vennor had a right to be, but his coldness went near to breaking down her fortitude.
"My good will!" He turned upon her almost fiercely. "You have no right to expect it. What has come over you in the last twenty-four hours that you should override the traditions and training of your whole life? Has this fellow but to crook his finger at you to make you turn your back upon everything that is decent and respectable?"
"Don't," she said, with a little sob in her voice; "I can't listen if you abuse him. I love him; do you understand what that means?"
"No, I don't; you are daft, crazy, hypnotized." The gathering throng was beginning to make privacy impossible on the platform, and he led her back to the car. "You'll do as you please in the end, I suppose, but not here or now." He handed her up the steps of the private car and turned to go away.