“Good God, Yvonne! I can't allow———”
“Was it as great as mine?” she persisted.
“Oh, this is ridiculous. I———”
“Did she leave you cheerfully, gladly, as I would go if I loved another, or did she plead with you—oh, I know it hurts! Did she plead with you to give her a chance to explain? Did she?”
“She was on her knees to me,” he said, the veins standing out on his temples.
“On her knees to you? Begging? For what? Forgiveness?”
“No! She was like all of her kind. She was innocent! Ha, ha!”
Yvonne arose. She stood over him like an accusing angel.
“And to this day, James Brood, to this very hour, you are not certain that you did right in casting her off!”
“Oh, I say!” He sprang to his feet.