"You have overdone yourself," he said with his cool hand on the fevered pulse. "Few men could stand the strain of your present life. You must go away at once to some very quiet place and be in the open air all day----"
Leona Lalage laughed aloud. The touch of those cool fingers thrilled her. To go away now, to abandon it all just when----. Ah, the thing was impossible. She might just as well have cast herself off Waterloo Bridge.
"Excuse me," she gasped, "I am a little mad today. My dear boy, I cannot go away, the thing is impossible. If you could only look into my heart--but nobody can do that. Oh, Gordon, Gordon!"
Her voice sank to a thrilling whisper. Bruce touched her hand soothingly. The mere contact of his fingers seemed to madden her.
"Don't do that," she said, in the same strained whisper. "If you only knew how I cared for you, how I love you. There is nothing I would not do for you! I am rich and powerful, and men who know say I am beautiful. Take me away, make me your wife, and you shall never know a moment's pain. Your good name is gone, Gordon--but what does that matter. If----"
She paused as Gordon recoiled from her. His eyes were full of loathing.
"Forget this," he said, sternly. "Put it from your mind, as I shall do. It is a passing madness. My future wife would blush if she could hear you."
The woman's eyes dilated, her bosom heaved. She might have been waking as from a trance. She was fighting passionately for the mastery of herself. It was a short, sharp fight, but it left her trembling from head to foot.
"Forget it," she said, hoarsely. "I--I never meant a word of it. Leave me now. Send me something to soothe these frayed nerves of mine. Only leave me alone."
The door closed quietly behind Bruce. Just for a moment the lace-clad figure lay motionless on the couch. Then she rose and swept up and down the room like a tornado. She had shown her hand, she had betrayed her secret, and the man who had her heart scorned her. She was filled with shame and rage and hate.