"You do not know! I came to this room to-night with one deliberate purpose—to accomplish what I have done; to compel you to support this measure. I have loved you more and more every day of these last weeks. God forgive me! I could not help it. I realized my helplessness, and tried to keep away from you. I made excuses. I was ill, incapable, anything. I tried to tell him the truth. If he is not a madman he must have known my condition and my attitude toward you. He did not care. He wanted success. He only cared for me so far as I was of use to him in satisfying his ambition. He gave no thought to me. I have not seen him more than once in twenty-four hours for the last three months, and that was when he had some instruction to give me. He has pushed me over a precipice. Ah! I am mad, starving for that which he denies me—affection. He thinks of me as a machine to do his work; with no feeling, no emotion, nothing human about me. I have tried to do my duty. I did not forget myself until I had accomplished his work. Now—now—no matter!"
She buries her face in the pillows of the divan, while Everet looks on appalled.
Some one stands between the portières. Helen staggers to her feet. Everet involuntarily puts his hand on her shoulder.
Braine comes slowly to the middle of the room. His face is livid. He stops. He articulates hoarsely:
"Take away your hand!"
Everet does not move, but looks Braine in the face. Helen leans heavily against him. She is fainting, perhaps.
Braine stands motionless a moment, with his hands clenched. He makes a sudden move toward the pair. He is trembling with fury. He raises his clenched fist. Helen rises and steps toward him. She seems suddenly to have recovered herself. She says in a strange, tense voice:
"Stop!"
Braine takes a step backward—it is something in her face that prompts the action.