"Yes," he muttered, "resolved—desperately resolved."
She threw herself away from him against the opposite end of the couch, facing him, and folded her arms, her lips closed in a hard line.
"Very well, then," she said cruelly, "go!" It seemed as if he hadn't heard her, for he leaned forward, his head in his hands, and went on in a voice without expression.
"I've felt for some time that I've been doing you a wrong. People are talking about us—coupling your name with mine—unpleasantly. Heaven knows what lies they're telling. Of course you don't hear—and I don't—but I know they're talking."
"How do you know?"
"My father——"
"Oh!"
"We quarreled—but the poison left its sting."
Camilla laughed nervously, the laughter of a woman of the world. It grated on him strangely.
"Don't you suppose I know?" she said. "I'm not a baby. And now that you've ruined my reputation you're going to leave me. That's unkind of you. Oh, don't worry," she laughed again. "I'll get along. There are others, I suppose."