“Look at yourself,” he interrupted. “Your clothes—your jewels—this place! Has all this been for others? Haven’t you enjoyed it? Isn’t it the very breath of existence to you? What sort of a woman are you, anyway?”
“You are cruel, brutal!” she cried, dashing the tears from her eyes. “You have no right to say such things to me. I took this money because I couldn’t refuse it. If I had given it away, you would have suspected. I had begun to see what a terrible mistake I had made—I wanted to keep this thing from you—because I loved you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me the truth—then—then—not leave me to find it out now? You knew if you told me about this money, you would have to give it up, and you thought you could deceive me.”
“No—no, it isn’t true!”
“It is true. You thought you could buy your fine clothes, your luxury, your happiness at the expense of my honor—and you have done it. What do you suppose Hall will think of all this when he knows the truth?”
“Why need he know anything about it?”
“Good God! Haven’t you any sense of decency—of right? Do you suppose for a moment I am going to let things go on like this?”
“Donald! What are you going to do?” she asked. “Remember what all this means to others. Forgive me, and let us forget.”
“Don’t say that again!” He took a step toward her threateningly. “I don’t want to hear it. Give up every cent of this money, now—at once! Put on your cheap clothes, your home-made hat, your pride—if you have any left. They will look better on you than what you are wearing now. Go back to your cooking—your housework. It will be time enough then to talk about forgiveness.”
She shrank from him, her hands clutching nervously at her bosom. After all, even she herself had not realized how horrible the thought of her old life had become to her, now that she had tasted of the new. She shuddered before the sordid vision. “You can’t mean it—you can’t!”